


Bad Reputation

by lotus0kid



Category: Heroes (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Shrek Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-02-07
Updated: 2010-02-27
Packaged: 2019-02-28 23:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13282155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lotus0kid/pseuds/lotus0kid
Summary: A war waged by magic-users centuries ago has turned the kingdom of Pinehearst against anyone born with an extraordinary ability.  This oppression leads to a rebellion which quickly fails, then regains new life when a prophecy leads Claire Bennet and Hiro Nakamura to seek out Claude Rains in order to find their lost leader Prince Peter Petrelli.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Importing this just in case Livejournal really bites the dust one day.

_Once upon a time, there was a war. Not particularly original, that, but this war distinguished itself by being waged by magical people. Hundreds of spells were flung about and whole swathes of countryside in the kingdom of Pinehearst became so saturated with the stuff that they were made entirely uninhabitable, if you preferred to wake up the same shape as when you went to sleep. Years after peace returned, the dangerous levels of magic slowly decreased, and the conflict itself passed into memory, then rumor, then legend. However, it left an indelible mark on the kingdom’s people. Magic of any kind was mistrusted, sometimes hated and feared, and the poor souls who were born with its mark suffered accordingly. A string of wise, level-headed rulers helped prevent the worst from happening to these people, but that kind of luck only holds out for so long..._

Wind rattles the shutters and makes the fire dance in its grate, but the tavern remains warm and comfortable. A few conversations drift on the air. Some men sit silently, nursing their drinks. It’s been a long day and no one is in a hurry to start the next.

One conversation has cycled around to a familiar topic. Three men are hunched together at the bar, voices low but starting to hum with morbid excitement. “I heard he used to work for the searchers, but got canned when they found out he was marked. The old place, where he lives, it was Charles Deveaux’s, right?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just goes to show, you can’t trust ‘em. They’ll turn on their own kind, and then do it _again_ just for spite! I heard he tried to take down the whole royal court, _and_ the searchers, before they finally found him out.”

“They say he’s a ghost, this one. The searchers found out what he was and put three arrows in him, but he didn’t die. Now he can walk through walls, read minds...”

“Nah, he’s as alive as us, but you know what _I_ heard? He’s still working for the searchers. That he watches the whole village, and tells ‘em if any marks turn up in the new babies. Then he comes in and steals ‘em, right out of their cribs!”

One of these rumors is true, and it’s funny how it never seems to get exaggerated like the others do. Well, there is a slight exaggeration. It was only the one arrow. He only very _nearly_ died. The bartender plunks another mug of ale down in front of one of the men, who is so engrossed in the conversation he doesn’t notice. The mug vanishes, and the sound of wood scraping against wood goes just as ignored. The invisible man at the end of the bar takes a long swig, and cranes his neck closer as the conversation gets lower and more charged.

“Well, that’s like, kinda good, right? We don’t want any marked around here... right?”

There’s a pause as three thick minds try to reconcile a very thorny issue. “But they’re just babies!” The invisible man smiles and nods- he was worried for a second. “That’s wrong no matter how you slice it. And, anyway, you know he ain’t growing anything in that swamp. He’s stealing our food to fill his stomach, and whatever else he needs to keep his old shack standing. Everyone knows that!”

This gets a round of fervent nods. Drinks are upended, except for the empty one that had its replacement stolen. Maybe there’s a grain of truth in another rumor- it _is_ nearly impossible to get anything worth eating out of swamp land. The conversation evolves, or perhaps devolves, from there. The invisible man finds his cue to stand and leave. The tavern door banging open is quickly blamed on the wind.

There are a lot of battles Claude Rains has given up fighting in his life. One of them is the battle to prove to the villagers he lives near that he’s not a bloodthirsty ghoul out to steal whatever he can grab. It’s really much more fun this way.

Moonlight wavers between swaying tree limbs as he journeys out into the swamp. They won’t be long now. When he left the tavern, plans were already forming to round up brothers, cousins, friends, and anyone else who’d be interested in rousting the dangerous marked man from the swamp. At this time of night, Claude doubts their numbers will top five or six. The harvest is on and most of the village collapsed into bed hours ago.

Claude waits in the darkness several yards away from his home, a length of rope on one shoulder, a wet rag in one hand, and his well-sharpened knife in its sheath at his hip. Soon enough, he counts four torches bobbing among the foliage. Apparently, these guys are better at persuading themselves to do something stupid than they are other people. Their only attempt at stealth is the occasional drunken “Shhh!” as they tromp closer. Claude feels a pang of disappointed pity- they barely even _try_ to make it a challenge for him anymore.

Light, unseen steps bring him up behind one of the men, near enough to see trembling in the grip on his torch and chosen farming implement cum weapon. The torch goes out with a swipe from the rag, and Claude easily dodges around the wildly swinging hoe to clap a hand over the man’s mouth and pull him in tight against his chest. “Shhh... Get on your knees an’ put your hands behind your back. Quietly, if you please.”

The man emits a tiny whimper and does as instructed. It’s the work of a moment to cut off a length of rope, bind the man’s hands, and tie them to a tree.

Claude returns to visibility and crouches down next to his prey. “You’ll probably be spendin’ the night out here. I suggest in that time you think about the specific actions that brought this sad fate to pass.” He stands, “Oh, and if a crocodile or the like comes sniffin’ around, just stay very still, yeah? Cheers.”

The three remaining would-be heroes fare no better against Claude’s skill, though one or two earn a smack to keep them civil. He eats his dinner as they serenade him with a chorus of curses, shouts, and moans. When they’re asleep he’ll untie the ropes, maybe. If he remembers.

***

The room is rather spacious for a dungeon, Claire notes. But then, there aren’t many ceilings that don’t soar in this place. She wonders if Lord Danko knows it makes him look even tinier than he already is. She hears a wet snap, and winces at a flare of pain that fades as quickly as it came. Her torturer tosses his pliers up in frustration, “Stop that!”

“I’m not _doing_ anything!” Claire snaps back with equal frustration. They’ve been at this for hours. No injury he can think of does the girl any lasting damage.

“Yes, you are! You’re healing, you little marked wench! You’ve got some spell cast on you-”

“Oh do I? I’m sitting in complete silence on a cold metal chair with my arms and legs bound. If I’m managing to do magic at the same time, I’m damned impressed with myself.”

“Someone else is doing it! S-someone outside!”

Claire rolls her eyes, “Well, since I can’t prove that’s _not_ true, I guess it must be.”

“Ha! You admit it! Knox, write that down.”

Claire groans loudly and shifts in her chair, letting sore back and thigh muscles heal. She knows she’s getting off easy. Her current captors don’t have an ounce of imagination between them. Their idiocy is more painful than anything they’ve done to her so far. She only hopes all of this nonsense buys enough time for the others to get away. Sooner or later someone who knows a thing or two about torture will arrive, and she’s not sure what will happen then.

As if waiting for the most upsetting time to make his entrance, someone slams open the dungeon door, and Claire’s chair is dragged around to face the steward of the land in the king’s absence, Lord Danko. She’s honestly shocked, not thinking the tyrant himself would put in an appearance at her interrogation. She wonders if this is a good sign or a bad sign.

“Hello, Claire,” he says mildly.

She risks a sardonically sweet smile.

“I’ll bet you think you’re smart, sending them up through the mountain pass this late in the season. Figured we wouldn’t risk following.”

 _Bad sign, bad sign, bad sign._ She tries not to let panic show on her face.

“I’m afraid that little gambit didn’t work out so well. Now,” he brings his arms behind his back and begins a slow pace from side to side, “What I want from you isn’t a lot, really. Even if you gave me what I’m after, it’s not certain that I would benefit from it in any way. So,” he stops in front of her, “why don’t you give up this game? Then I won’t have to do anything... unpleasant.”

“You can give unpleasant your best shot. Ask these morons how far it’s gotten them.”

Danko smirks, “Claire, I never said I would do unpleasant things to _you_.”

A scream from somewhere else in the dungeon slices through the air. Horror drops cold and heavy into Claire’s gut. Danko’s pale eyes drink in her distress.

“I’m sure many of your friends would be more than willing to die for your cause. But how many would you be willing to kill?”

Another scream, in a different voice. Claire shuts her eyes against it. Faces flash through her mind- all her friends, all possible owners of the screams.

“I can offer you a deal, Claire,” Danko continues, voice never shifting from the mild tone it came in with, “Give me what I want, and I promise you, none of your friends will die. In fact, I can guarantee safety for at least one. Say, Elle Bishop?”

A gasp sneaks out before she can stop it and her eyes fly open. _Elle._ Her best friend, like sisters as long as Claire’s known her, brought up together- the two little castle guard brats. Chasing each other through the garrison, teasing the princes while they toiled at their lessons, pestering their fathers and de facto uncles on the guard. Sneaking off to each other’s beds, later on. She hasn’t so much as received a letter from Elle since she left the castle, after Peter broke with the royal court.

“Tell me what I want to know, and I can swear right here and now, Elle will come to no harm, and you and your friends will get a free ride out of this kingdom. No one can give you that much, except for me.”

Sudden weakness flooding Claire’s muscles tells her she’s already given in. Her throat aches with tears and her voice is thick as she bites out, “What is it _exactly_ that you want to know?”

“Just what Queen Angela told you when you last spoke to her.”

Claire stares at him.

“She had a- vision, didn’t she?” The slightest pause reveals his revulsion.

“Since when do you pay attention to a marked woman’s dreams?”

Danko’s eyes narrow, “Though the method in which they’re gotten is an abomination, that doesn’t make them false. This has been proven to me on more than one occasion. No one should know the future, but to further secure my final victory, I’m willing to make an exception.”

Claire lets out a tiny laugh, “Oh, well, how wise of you. You know, if you made an _exception_ and _stopped_ trying to expel the _marked_ , there wouldn’t even _be_ a _victory_ that _needed securing_!”

Danko leans away from Claire’s infuriated roar, and glances over her head. The sound of the loudest scream yet casts ice on her anger. “One way or another you’ll all be gone, Claire. Right now, I’m letting you choose. So what will it be, huh? On your feet or in a grave? All you have to do is tell me about Queen Angela’s dream.”

Claire frowns deeply, but says, “She dreamed about Peter. She usually does. She dreamed about Peter, and about your death. There, I told you. Happy?”

“It’s a start.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there’s a comparatively thrilling rescue, and various expectations aren’t met.

Oddly enough, the guilt Claire feels over turning Claude’s hideout into a refugee camp somewhat cancels out the guilt she feels over revealing Angela’s dream to Danko. The way the man pouts and grumbles is almost comical in its extremity, enough to let her roll her eyes and focus on the task at hand. Hiro is still smarting from fresh disillusionment, but he too doesn’t let it distract him. They have to find Peter. He has always been the axis of any plan to do away with Danko and his searchers. In all of the dreams of victory Queen Angela related to them, Peter took center stage. They stopped questioning it during the first attempt, and their faith was rewarded by almost total defeat- their leader captured and their numbers decimated. Without the driving force of Peter’s influence, the rebellion fell apart. They thought he was dead, no doubt cut down swiftly by Danko at the first opportunity. But then, Angela dreamed again.

She saw a black tower, lit from below by molten rock, cupped inside the cone of a volcano. Her son and Danko’s death were waiting inside that tower. Beyond that, she told Claire, her vision was clouded. “It makes no difference,” she said, “Go to the tower, that’s where Peter will be waiting. Danko will not fall without his involvement.” And that was what Claire was forced to tell Danko. She could only assume that they now raced for the tower against the tyrant or at least his best searchers.

Claude is less than impressed as Claire fills him in. “Sorry, love, but the Prince Peter I knew was a scrawny lad chasin’ after his older brother night and day, when he wasn’t camped out in the library reading fairy tales. Hardly the stuff of righteous victories.”

“You’ll see for yourself, when we get to the tower,” Claire answers, with a small, knowing smile.

“Suppose I will.”

They travel west along the border, to where the land is even more dismal than where the marked are dumped. Everyone knows about the huge volcano in those parts. Every decade or so it releases a tremor that rumbles out through the kingdom. Villages close to it see the glow of fresh lava streams at night before it goes dark and quiet again. Almost no one knows about the castle built inside it a hundred-odd years ago by a particularly defense-conscious king. “Hard to imagine a better spot to lock up pesky political prisoners, then,” Claude remarks, “But how about his older brother? Ought to be King Nathan in charge now, not the steward Lord Danko.”

“You want the official story?”

“You mean they’re still saying he’s off on that world tour, learning the ways of other cultures to improve our own? That was the biggest load of shit any populace was forced to swallow, even when it had the chance of being true.”

“One of these days they’ll probably announce his ship was wrecked, no body recovered,” Claire says with gloomy acceptance. “Did you know he was my biological father?”

Claude starts, “No. No, I didn’t. Ah, sorry- for...”

“Let’s just get to the castle,” she cuts him off, and speeds her pace, eyes on the loose, rocky dirt ahead. They will reach the base of the volcano soon. They’ve already ventured beneath the ever-present cloud of ash drifting out into the sky.

***

Steward of the Realm Lord Emile Danko sits in a chair by a window in his castle, one leather boot held carefully on his lap. With a wooden, hard-bristled brush, he meticulously removes every speck of dust from the heel of the boot to the toe. He picks it up and inspects it before placing it back on his lap. Then he looks to the ceramic jar sitting on a small wood and metal structure that holds it above a candle flame. He wraps a soft, thin cloth around his index finger, and scoops out some warm polish from the jar. Finger moving in small circles, he works the polish into the leather until a faint shine comes through the swirls.

Footsteps echo closer. “Sir, the searchers have returned.”

“Good. They didn’t have any problems, did they?” He dips the cloth in a white bowl of warm water and rubs it into the polish until the swirls fade, leaving behind a clean shine. He studies it while it dries.

“No, sir.”

“Nakamura and Bennet were exiled together?”

“Yes, sir.”

“When did she wake up?” He applies another layer of polish.

“The team said they had trouble keeping her asleep the whole trip.”

“But she made no move against them?”

“No, sir, not even when they reached the outskirts.”

“Wise beyond her years.” He rubs it in with warm water again.

“Sir, I’m sure you know Nakamura and Bennet are probably on the move right now. They will go after the prince. What are your orders?”

Danko emits a quiet sigh, and begins adding another coat of polish. “Currently I have no orders. Business as usual.”

“Sir? But-”

“ _If_ those two children make it to the castle, _if_ they manage to free the prince, and _if_ they somehow circumvent our other protective measures... then I’ll have the opportunity to crush this rebellion once and for all and in so decisive a manner my position will never be questioned again. Understand?”

“I... yes, sir.”

“Good. You’re dismissed.” He dips his cloth in the warm water, and pauses. “On second thought, I do have an order. I want a letter sent to Joseph. Tell him to keep an eye out for an old friend.”

“Yes, sir. Immediately, sir.” Footsteps echo away.

Danko sets the gleaming boot on the floor beside his chair, and reaches for the other one. “If nothing else, the wizard would love to play with Peter again,” he murmurs to himself.

***

Claude is the last to scramble over the crest of cooled lava and squint into the glare of molten rock inside the volcano. A dilapidated castle lurks in shadow above the churning orange lake, with no visible connection between it and the rest of the volcano apart from the column of rock it sits on. There is a lit window in the castle’s tallest tower. “Right,” Claude says, “Very impressive. And very unreachable. Any ideas?”

Hiro turns to him with a smile, “The best idea. My mark means no gap.”

Claire automatically puts a hand on his shoulder, and he gestures for Claude to do the same. He steps back, “Oh no. No jumpin’ about in time and space for me. I’ve seen the damage it can do.”

Claire rolls her eyes, “Hiro knows what he’s doing. He’s moved between centuries before. We’re just going across the gap.”

“It will take less than one second,” Hiro chimes in, “Promise.”

“Yeah, and less than one second to burn to a crisp if you miss.”

Hiro shakes his head, looking wounded, “No, I won’t miss. Lots of space to land. Easy.”

“Claude, you know we won’t get across any other way. Come on, we’re wasting time. Danko could be right on our heels.”

“An excellent point, Claire. Hiro, why don’t you zap yourself across, scurry inside, grab Peter and pop the both of you back out here? Got to be faster than all three of us bumbling about in there.”

Claire and Hiro exchange glances, but Claire finally says, “No, we stick together. What if Danko gets here while we’re waiting?” She gives Claude a sly grin, “And anyway, don’t tell me you came all this way just to stand outside and wait. You wanna see what’s inside the old creepy castle more than any of us.”

It’s Claude’s turn to roll his eyes, hands on his hips as he shifts his weight awkwardly. “Hiro, now!” A hand grabs his arm- the world winks out for a breathless instant- and then he’s standing on the other side of the gap. He rounds on Claire and Hiro, “Not bloody funny, you two! Next time y-”

His rant is interrupted by lines of blue lightning skittering across the stone floor straight towards them. Claude goes invisible, darts forward to snatch Claire up and runs. Hiro has already teleported away. Pressed against a stone pillar, Claire and Claude let only their eyes move to track down the source of the lightning. They find it in the emaciated figure stalking down the wide front hall. Filthy hair hides a face as it swings from side to side, searching. Blue lines spider out from under bare feet when they hit stone. Claude suddenly finds Claire struggling in his arms. Her eyes are round with horror as they follow the wraith.

“Elle... Elle,” she chokes out, “Let go, Uncle Claude, please. Please...”

_Elle._ Another painful jolt to Claude’s memory. Claire’s twin in every way except a slightly more pronounced penchant for mischief. The castle guard thought they had hid her mark as well as Claire’s, but Claude got wind of what went on in the most secret of dungeons when the girls were supposed to be asleep. He knew sometimes the marked made people curious instead of afraid. The night he ran- she was confused, tired. He didn’t blame her for letting go of his hand. Never her. Now, little sparks in Elle’s palms have somehow been forced into sprawling bolts that nearly tear the girl apart. _Look what you’ve done_ , bites into his mind before he can suppress it.

“Claude, please,” Claire’s still begging, “Go. I’ll distract her. You can sneak by.”

“Yeah... yes.” He lets go. For a second Claire doesn’t, hands squeezing his shoulders tight. Painful uncertainty mars her features as she watches Elle, but she worries her lower lip and steps away, out of Claude’s protection.

The wraith spots her instantly, eyes pin-pricks among the tangles of hair and mouth gaping open.

Claire’s scream chases Claude down the front hall, where he almost trips over Hiro. He hastily turns visible in order to snap at the younger man, “What’re you doing over here?”

“Sorry! Sorry, my mark-”

“Don’t care.” Claude grabs Hiro’s shoulder and all but throws him back down towards the entrance, where blue light flashes. “Go help Claire.”

“Where are you going?”

“Gonna go get the prince. He’ll be in the tallest room of the tallest tower, that’s how these things go, yeah?”

“Uh... yes?”

Claude rolls his eyes again, “No bloody use at all. Go. Help. Claire. Understand?”

Hiro gives him a firm and slightly relieved nod, and blinks away. Claude takes a breath and presses on.

***

“Elle? Elle, listen to me, _please_!” Claire dodges a bolt. She would cry if she wasn’t so scared. Electricity winds around Elle’s body like invasive vines, collecting on her hands to throw another searing strike. Claire’s clothes are irreparably charred in places, though her mark heals the flesh beneath. “What’ve they done to you?” she murmurs, unable to push away growing despair.

“Hello!” Hiro’s voice rings out a few yards away.

“Hiro!” Claire shouts just as Elle rounds on him. He vanishes and appears in a different spot- Elle tracks him and throws ineffectual bolts.

“Hiro, what do we do?”

“You don’t know?”

“Can’t you just freeze her? Or- or take her somewhere?”

“Maybe- must get close enough! And no more shocks!”

“That might be a problem.” More electricity seems to be surging from Elle every minute. Claire doesn’t think anything short of knocking her unconscious will stop the flow. And she knows she’ll have to be the one to do it.

***

The crumbling castle is a maze befitting an extraordinarily paranoid monarch. Some staircases end in walls, when they end anywhere. Hallways go in circles or are cut off by piles of rubble from collapsed ceilings. Claude shoves a corroded helmet on his head as meager protection from tumbling architecture. He tries to think of his home- the golden shimmer of morning light on the water, the buzz of insects on still night air, the creak of trees in the wind. It’s enough to keep him going until he finds a narrow spiral staircase he’s halfway certain leads up the tallest tower. “Not before time...” he grumbles and hustles up the uneven steps.

The clammy temperature of the castle slowly rises with Claude. He grins behind the helmet’s guard. There must be a fire upstairs, and fires need people to tend them. Finally the stairs end at the threshold of a heavy wooden door. Claude can see light flicker beneath it. A lock is puzzlingly absent from the handle. _Wouldn’t think one girl, electric as she is, would be enough to hold the marked messiah..._ Between here and the swamp, Claire has waxed apostolic on the fabled leader. Spoke of his stern, commanding presence, his hard, sharp stare, the scar on his face. Claude can’t deny a certain amount of curiosity about meeting this paragon that somehow sprang from the knock-kneed runt he’d known. Claude beats down the sudden urge to straighten his clothes, and pushes open the door.

A young man freezes in place in the middle of a homey bedroom. His arms are full of books and clothes, and wide beaming eyes fall on Claude like he’s the sun at the end of a rainy day. “Nath-” Peter starts, but pauses to take a closer look at his visitor. The joy-filled expression fades. “Who are you?”

“Ah, I’m Claude Rains.”

“Oh. Are you... are you a knight?”

Claude blinks. There haven’t been any knights in the kingdom for years. But a glimmer of the earlier expression returned with the question, so he says, “Yeah. Yeah, that’s me.”

“Oh! Well, um...” He glances around, bites a crooked lower lip. Looks up with a wince, “Could we start over then?”

Claude frowns, “Why?”

Peter shifts awkwardly, “Well, sir knight, it’s just...” he coughs into his hand, “This, uh, this is our first meeting. Shouldn’t it be a... romantic moment?” A pink blush has suffused the prince’s cheeks, and he blinks up at Claude with a shyness that isn’t free of anticipation. It makes a damned pretty picture, and Claude can feel the invitation pull from across the room.

He swallows automatically, but manages to say, “Yeah, sorry, mate, no time. Get your things together and let’s go.”

Peter gives Claude a disappointed pout, and it begins to dawn on him that the prince isn’t exactly embodying the heroic figure from Claire’s stories. Peter grabs a bag that appears to be made from worn-out clothes and starts filling it with slightly less worn-out clothes and books.

“Hurry it up, will ya’?” Claude gripes, “Don’t know how Claire and Hiro are farin’ against- the girl.”

Peter freezes. Very un-rebel-like fear fills his face, “The girl- you mean, _she’s_ still down there? You didn’t kill her?”

“Didn’t have to. Can turn invisible, me. See?” Claude flickers, “Walked straight past. The others couldn’t, so they’re playin’ distraction. Let’s get on now, ain’t you worried about your generals?”

“My generals... What are- _who_ are you talking about?”

They fix equally perplexed looks on each other for a moment. “Listen,” Claude says, “Are you comin’ or not? Simple question.”

“I, uh, yeah. I guess.”

“Fantastic.” Claude takes a hold of Peter’s arm and draws him through the door, “Now run for your life.”

***

Smooth skin ripples and replaces burned flesh. “Again, Hiro! We have to try again!”

“Claire, I do not...”

“Just do it!”

The young man frowns, but dodges bolts until he can grab Claire’s arm. In a moment, they stand just a foot away from Elle. Hiro vanishes in the next moment. Claire raises a chunk of fallen masonry in preparation to strike- and gets a lethal dose of electricity poured into her body from Elle’s grasping, claw-like hands. She screams and falls, twitching. From twenty feet away, Hiro winces and clenches his hands with the inability to act. Then he has to dodge again, as Elle abandons her defeated foe and moves on to him. After a minute or so, Claire coughs and slowly clambers back onto her feet, anguished expression as dark as the soot that stains it.

“Claire!” a voice calls behind her. She turns to spot Claude and... Peter running down the front hall towards her.

It’s enough to draw a smile from her, “About time! We can’t get close enough to knock her out. What do we do, Peter?”

The prince casts a look glazed in terror over her shoulder. He draws back and closer to Claude, hands wrapping around his arm, “I- I don’t know. I don’t... Please, let’s go. We can go back up the tower- sh-she never goes up there. Please, come on...”

Claire can only stare in puzzlement at Peter’s cowardly display. She’s never seen him behave like this. “Claude, I think I can take her, I just need to get close enough without getting blasted again.”

“Right, okay,” the man says, and steps forward.

Peter’s hold on Claude tightens, “No! You can’t, it’s too dangerous!”

Claude turns to him, “Hey, Pete, who’s the knight here, eh?”

_No one_ , Claire wants to say, despite the helmet Claude pulls from his head, but the prince’s face relaxes as he looks up at the man. “Right- that’s right. You are. You- you’ll defeat her, won’t you?”

“Course. Just as soon as you let go of my arm.”

“Oh, okay,” Peter looks away with a bashful grin, and releases Claude, though not without giving his hand a quick squeeze.

“Shall we?” Claire interjects.

Claude coughs, “Ah, yeah, right.” He comes to her side, “Ready?”

“Not if there are a few china patterns you two need to look over before we get started.”

“Hilarious, smart ass- let’s get on with it.” He puts a hand on her shoulder and wraps invisibility around them both. They begin walking towards the sparking figure. “You noticed something’s more than a little off with your fearless leader, yeah?”

“It would be hard not to. We’ll figure it out later.” She lifts her chin and squares her shoulders. She holds up the rock, “Just get me as close as you can. The electricity doesn’t do much damage unless she directs it at you.”

“Her mark was never this strong before,” Claude remarks quietly, “Never this uncontrolled.”

“I know. We’ll find out what happened to her too. But for now...” They step as close as they can to Elle, who continues to throw bolts that Hiro barely stays ahead of. “Sorry, Elle,” Claire whispers, and then swings the rock into the other girl’s temple. She crumples with a pained grunt. The tendrils of blue light stutter and fade. Claire kneels down next to Elle, throat tight as she gently brushes matted hair away from her face. She cradles Elle’s head in her hand and wraps a bandage around her bleeding wound.

There’s a wide hand on her shoulder. “Had to be done, love. She wanted to kill us all.”

“ _She_ didn’t,” Claire snaps, “She never would. Somebody _did_ something to her, and I’m going to find out who.” She leans in close to touch her forehead to Elle’s. She takes a shuddering breath. “I’m gonna fix this, Elle, do you hear me? You’ll be okay, I promise. I... I love you.” She presses a swift kiss to the stained skin of Elle’s hollow cheek. She looks up, “Peter? You have a room at the top of the tower, right? Where it’s warm and dry?”

“Yeah,” he replies, still maintaining a good distance between him and Elle.

“We’re taking her up there, now.”

“Do we have time for-?” Claude starts, only to be silenced with one fierce glare. While Claire follows behind, he carries Elle up the stairs and tucks her in under the soft sheets of Peter’s bed. He runs a hand once over the top of her head, and Hiro teleports them out of the castle.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a little magic lets us get to know Prince Peter a little better.

 

They walk until they find the sunset emerging from beneath the volcano’s cloud of ash. Claude worries the prince will whine the whole way, and can’t really blame him if he does after years with only the exercise one small tower room can afford. However, delighted exclamations at trees, bushes, and flowers crowd out any complaints. Peter nearly walks off the edge of a cliff while gaping up at the stars.

“You can get reacquainted when we set up camp, Pete,” Claude says, and guides him back to the path with a hand between his shoulder blades. Peter gives him a smile.

They find a decent spot to rest, and the prince promptly passes out by the fire. Claude, Claire, and Hiro watch him for a moment.

“‘S proper magic, that. He’s got a spell on him. Elle too, most likely.”

“What’s Danko doing casting spells?” Claire asks no one in particular.

“Got a better question: how’d we waltz off with his prisoner just now?”

Claire shakes her head, “It doesn’t matter, not yet. We need to get Peter back to normal. Hiro?”

The young man jumps at the sudden address, “Hm?”

“Whatever else they did to Peter, they definitely reversed his age somehow. Look at him, he can’t be that much older than I am, and his scar is missing. So you have to fix his age.”

Hiro frowns deeply, “Claire, I cannot do magic. I have said before, it’s not good. Marks are one thing, magic is another. Far more dangerous, always.”

The girl winces. Hiro was different after he returned from the past, not the cheery boy with big plans to learn the ancient secrets from the wizards themselves. No one dared ask him what had happened. “I know, Hiro, I know. But you have to try. We need to get Peter back to normal.” She smiles, “And anyway, it’s not like it’s really magic. It’s your mark, just fixing his age.”

Hiro’s eyes dart uncomfortably from Claire to the sleeping prince. Eventually he presses his lips into a thin line and nods. “I will do my best.”

Hiro moves to Peter’s side and cautiously lays his hands on his shoulder and upper arm. He closes his eyes. “I see the spell!” he exclaims.

“Really?” Claire asks, moving closer, “What’s it like?”

“Like... a net. A net inside.”

“Grand,” says Claude, “Whip it off and we’ll be set.”

“Don’t know how. Don’t know... We need something special to take off the net. I don’t know what.”

Claire frowns, “Well, try to force it off. Or get past it.”

Hiro’s whole face tenses. “Trying...” he grits out.

Suddenly, yellow light flashes along Peter’s body. His eyes and mouth fly open and he begins seizing under Hiro’s grip. His back arches off the ground and he emits a choked scream before the light obscures him for a second. He flops down again, completely still. Hiro lets go and scurries a couple of feet away, wrapping his arms around himself and sporting wide, haunted eyes. He blinks and seems to regain his composure. He, Claude, and Claire lean in curiously to see what’s happened.

It’s still Peter Petrelli lying there, Claude’s sure of that. But definitely not the fresh-faced young prince that almost killed himself stargazing earlier. Muscles that didn’t exist then have bulked up his body. He’s lost his floppy fringe of hair and now has something close-cut. He seems to be frowning even while unconscious. And a diagonal scar runs from his forehead to his cheek. Bottomless eyes flick open and instantly register the three people peering down at him. Peter sits up straight and says with a harsh rasp Claude’s never heard, “How long was I out?”

“Three years,” Hiro answers promptly.

He blinks, “Three years? I don’t remember it.”

“You don’t remember anything?” Claire asks, “Not who put the spell on you, or how?”

Something softens in Peter’s face when he looks at her. The tiniest smile makes an appearance, before realizing it’s out of place and departing. “No, Claire, nothing. Where are the others?”

“It’s just us. The others crossed the mountain pass. They’re safe.”

“Safe... and completely useless,” Peter bites out, bitter tone making Claire flinch. He turns his attention to Claude. His gaze rakes over the other man, “And who’re you?”

There’s unexpected heat flickering in Peter’s eyes and voice that has the same rising in Claude’s cheeks. He coughs, forces his mind back to the matter at hand, “I’m Claude Rains. Heard you’ve been tellin’ a few tall tales about me t’your faithful. Maybe should’ve got your facts straight or I’d be enjoying the comforts of my own home right now.”

The heat hardens to a glare, “Every marked person has a duty to keep our kind from being exiled, or worse. You’re _lucky_ to be here.”

Claude meets the glare with one of his own, “Funny, this is the first _I’ve_ heard of any such ‘duty.’ In fact, I think I’ve done my part for your precious crusade.” He stands, “Got you out of the castle, back with your mates- I leave the rest entirely in your hands. Best of luck.” He turns and begins walking away.

“Wait!” Hiro calls, “What about your swamp? No one leaves until Danko is gone!”

“It’s a big kingdom, Hiro, plenty of places to go. Don’t bother looking for me.” The light of the fire fades around him, and he fades with it. It helps get the feeling of dark eyes off his back.

***

Peter watches the spot where the man... Claude vanished. He’s still somewhat unsteady from ageing several years in a few seconds, and blames that for the surprisingly deep pang of loss he feels. _My knight_ \- the thought appears unbidden in his head. Peter gets to his feet, going slow to not give away his weakness. He doesn’t like the worry in Claire’s eyes. He knows if he doesn’t have her support, he has nothing. “Claude... he really did help get me out?”

She nods, “We couldn’t have done it without him.”

He gives a grin that’s more of a grimace, “Was I really that pathetic?”

“You weren’t doing us any favors, that’s for sure.” Claire smiles sadly, “But you and Claude definitely hit it off.”

“Him and me? Please, Claire, even if... We should get some rest. Figure out our next step in the morning.”

“Whatever you say, boss.”

They set up their bed rolls, stack wood on the fire to last the night, and get comfortable. But Peter can’t sleep. Not when he feels like he’s been asleep for... _Three years._ Three years of Danko ruling the kingdom unchecked. Who knows what evil he’s devised in that time? While Peter was... it’s a blur to him, gone like a dream he was startled out of. The only thing that makes it seem at all real to him is... is Claude. He remembers, not in pictures but in emotions. A long stretch of nothing and then- something. Why? He can’t figure it out, and the lack of knowledge is like a missing tooth. He waits until Claire and Hiro have fallen asleep, and begins to follow the path Claude took.

Peter’s body knows to relish the cool night air, even if his mind didn’t exactly get the chance to miss it. He walks for several hours, tracking the faint signs left by the invisible man, both physical and not. He runs his fingers along leaves, picking up the sensation of cloth slipping past them. His first attempt to use his various marks- he picked an obscure one and is not a little relieved by its responsiveness. He still feels wide awake, even as dawn creeps closer.

He knows he should be questioning this, maybe even fighting it. Someone did _real_ magic on him- an act unheard of in centuries. But somehow he can’t convince himself to stop and turn back. _Claude..._ Maybe it’s his own magic, a shift in his mother’s precognition whispering the man’s importance to him. _Yeah. Yeah, that must be it._ Nothing to do with eyes like sky shards at all, staring straight through the rhetoric and the mission to who he still is inside. It’s not worth wondering exactly how that’s a good thing when he spots the glimmer of firelight a dozen yards off the path. Peter grins, _Knew he had to stop sometime. Now, what the hell am I going to say to him?_

Claude spots him quickly and jumps to his feet. Peter holds his hands up and out from his sides, broadcasting his nonaggression. “Not a fast learner are ya’, your highness? Said don’t follow me,” the man snaps, but doesn’t run.

“I know. But... I just wanted to... I wanted to tell you...” Peter blinks when sunlight pierces between tree trunks. It enters his eyes and fills them with blinding yellow. He’s falling, but something stops him. A voice- Claude’s, saying “Wake up” and he wants to tell him he _is_ awake, wide awake, but the voice has faded away. He’s moving, walking maybe. It’s hard to tell in this opaque yellow. Claude’s voice, and what could be a couple of others drift around him, but he can’t make out a word. And he’s still moving, maybe. Eventually, the yellow dims, fades further and further, until soft blue filters in. He falls again. He opens eyes he doesn’t remember closing.

Claude’s peering down at him like he’s a frustrating puzzle. It’s strangely flattering. “Right. By night, brave rebel leader. By day, useless little princeling. Fantastic.” He cocks his eyebrow at Peter, “You want to beat the shit out of Hiro, or should I?”

“It’s not his fault,” Claire says. She’s standing a few feet away, arms crossed over her stomach. “It’s the spell. We need to really break it, not just get around it. Peter, are you okay?”

“I... I think so. A little out of it.”

She gives him a crooked smile, “I guess involuntary age-jumping does that to you.” She sighs, “So, any ideas about how we can break the spell? I don’t see the rebellion getting very far when our leader keeps bouncing between decades.”

Something tickles the back of Peter’s brain, like a half-remembered snatch of song. He frowns as frustration builds. His eyes land on Claude, and the song thrums strangely. He brings a hand to his forehead, thumb pressing on the scar.

“No way to know for sure what breaks the spell,” says Hiro, face pensive, “We cannot try things to see what works. Need spell-caster.”

“But Peter can’t remember who did it,” Claude tells him.

“No,” Claire chimes in, “but we know he was captured and put in the castle by Danko.” She holds up two fingers. “So, it seems more than likely he was involved in casting the spell,” a third finger, “that kept Peter a sweet and innocent prisoner.”

“And made Elle a- a monster to guard him,” Claude finishes quietly.

“Yeah...” Claire’s face darkens. She seems to shrink in on herself.

“So,” Claude picks up the thread, “As with so many problems in our lives, Lord Emile Danko is at or near the source. Convenient, when you think of it.” He catches Peter’s eyes with an ironic smirk.

The prince gets to his feet, “Okay. Sounds good. Let’s go.”

“Go?” Claude asks, “Go where?”

“To Danko’s castle! The sooner we get to him and make him tell us how to break the spell, not to mention turn over control of the kingdom, the better.”

“I don’t disagree with any particular part, but you forget we’ve been on the move all day. ‘S time for sleep, mate,” he punctuates this with a theatrical stretch of his arms.

Peter stares at him in a moment of disbelief, then looks to Hiro and Claire. Both wear abashed expressions, but make no move to contradict Claude. He flops back down on the ground, “Fine! Fine. I’ll just... keep guard.”

“Cheers. See you in the morning- before dawn, anyway.”

_Bastard. What made you decide to stick around this time?_ He hasn’t figured it out by the time he sinks back under yellow light.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there’s a new addition to the rebel ranks and Peter makes progress.

 

Claude is awake to watch the return of young Prince Peter. He turns in his bed roll when he spots a sunny patch on a tree trunk, and witnesses the smooth transformation. The lad himself doesn’t seem to notice, just lies back with a sigh and a smile directed up at the new day. He blinks, and turns his head to send a fresh smile at Claude. The man glances away, oddly embarrassed at being caught.

“Good morning,” Peter says anyway.

“Morning.”

“Do we know where we’re going now?”

Claude recalls the story he, Claire, and Hiro cooked up yesterday about waiting to receive orders regarding where they were taking him, telling him that they would arrive overnight. Peter didn’t seem overly curious about how that would happen, or from whom the orders would come. He seems to trust them completely and believe just as much that everything is fine. _All part of the spell_ , Claude figures. “Going to the castle, mate.”

Peter’s face fills with one of its many shades of joy, “Great! That makes sense. Nathan’s probably worried about me. That’s where I _should_ go.”

“Yeah,” Claude says, instead of all the ugly truths that lurk in his mind. Ever since the castle, the idea of bringing daytime Peter up to speed has felt forbidden. Claude can’t tell if that’s also the spell at work, or the thought of what it might do to the sweet if artificial purity the prince radiates. There is an undeniable part of Claude that wishes he lived in daytime Peter’s world, where Nathan rules, Danko and the threat he poses don’t exist, and he is a noble knight. He makes sure to scoff loudly in his head at this idiocy. Yesterday was one thing, but now they have to get moving. He gets more nervous every minute a band of searchers _doesn’t_ spring from the woods and attack them, and he knows at least two of his companions feel the same way.

***

The group journeys on, three-quarters of it quiet and pensive, and one-quarter bounding ahead to investigate interesting plants while humming to himself. Peter likes Claire and Hiro just fine, and... well, he really likes Sir Claude, obviously, but he wishes they weren’t so serious all the time. It’s a beautiful day to be outdoors- though Peter doesn’t doubt that every day will seem beautiful to him after his time in the castle. Not that that was so bad, as long as he kept to his room. He knew Nathan would come for him sooner or later... Okay, that didn’t actually happen, but the next best thing did. A brave knight came and rescued him. Yeah, maybe he then proceeded to tuck into bed the evil monster besetting the prince, and said prince is still waiting for that first kiss he’s read about in his books, but he supposes that’s all right. Sir Claude’s seems to have a lot on his mind. Peter doesn’t want to bug him. And in the meantime there’s still this amazing day to enjoy.

Peter wanders a ways ahead of the knight and his squires. Sunlight through glossy leaves dazzles his eyes, the soft breeze envelopes him like a hug. After so long surrounded by the ashy darkness of the volcano, clean air and a clear sky no more than a hazy vision far beyond his window, no one will convince him this isn’t heaven. He keeps walking, and doesn’t notice the sounds of nature replacing those of his friends.

“Oh wow,” he breathes when he comes across a stream that shimmers as it flows down a hill. He crouches at the water’s edge and dips his fingers in the current. Suddenly, the water turns frigid and ice begins to crystallize around his fingers. Peter gasps and yanks his hand out, anxiously flexing the cold sting from it. He stares down at the stream, combing his mental library for magical bodies of water that freeze when you touch them and coming up empty.

“Yeah, that’ll sneak up on you,” a voice remarks.

Peter jumps and looks to find a man leaning against a tree about six feet away.

“How are you, Peter?” he asks, pushing off the tree and strolling closer, neutral gaze focused through a pair of glasses, “You look good for being imprisoned in a castle for three years.”

“I’m fine,” Peter replies, “Who are you?”

The man blinks, “My name’s Noah Bennet, Peter. I... used to work for the castle guard. You don’t remember me?”

Noah is looking at Peter like Claire, Hiro, and even Sir Claude sometimes do. It makes him uncomfortable, “Sorry, but I don’t. I- I wish I did. Uh, sorry.”

“That’s okay. All you need to know is I’m your friend, and I’m here to take you to a safe place.”

“Oh, well...” Peter frowns. He feels strange, as if his mind is disagreeing with itself. Something tells him to follow Noah. Something else tells him not to. “I... I don’t know. I need to be getting back.” He casts a glance behind him, wondering where Sir Claude is.

“You don’t need to go back, Peter. Trust me, I’m only here to help. You’re in a lot of danger.”

Peter looks up at Noah, “Danger? What do you mean, I’m-?” He stands, “Look, I need to go. It was nice talking to you.”

He turns to walk away, but Noah wraps a hand around his arm, “Peter, no, you have to come with me. We need to figure out how to handle this situation.”

“Please let go,” the prince says, tugging against the hold. He feels strange, still struggling with the contradicting orders in his mind that only get louder with each passing second.

“Peter, we don’t have time for this.”

“I... said...”

“Please just come with-”

“... Let GO!” Peter shoves Noah away, and the man shoots off the ground as if hit with a battering ram. He flies over the stream and topples onto the ground on the other side, not stopping until he crashes against the base of a tree.

“Bravo!” cheers a much more welcome voice from behind Peter.

The prince spins to see Sir Claude walking towards him, clapping his hands and grinning wider than Peter has yet to witness. Hiro and Claire gasp and run past him, dashing through the stream to Noah’s side. Peter faintly hears Claire say, “Dad, are you okay?” but his attention is mostly arrested by Sir Claude.

“Well done, mate. Glad to know you’ve got some clue about defending yourself.”

“I- he... He asked me to come with him. He asked me to leave you. I... I didn’t want to.”

Sir Claude shrugs, “Who would? I’m better company than he ever was.”

Peter smiles around disappointment. He wonders when his knight will get with the program. Hopefully it won’t be much longer. Reluctantly shelving those hopes for now, Peter looks to the trio across the stream.

“I’m all right, Claire,” Noah is saying, holding the girl’s and Hiro’s hands as he levers himself into a sitting position, “Just a few bruises.”

“Okay, then can I ask what the hell you’re doing here?” Noah frowns at her language, but she doesn’t pause, “You’re supposed to be across the mountains. You’re supposed to be _safe_ , not wandering around the countryside like a piece of meat wandering through a dog kennel.”

“Because I have absolutely no experience keeping myself hidden from people who may wish me harm,” Noah retorts, “Did you honestly think I was going to sit on the sidelines while my only daughter continued to risk her life in this madhouse?”

“You said there was no hope, that we’d lost once and for all. You said Peter- that Peter, right there-” she hooks a thumb at the prince, “was completely out of our reach. Dad, I was counting on you to take care of everyone. We would’ve come for you all after we’d won.”

“Before I left, everyone was just fine, Claire, and happy to let me come back and see if the situation wasn’t as hopeless as I previously thought. And I have to say, I’m happy to be proven wrong.” He smiles softly, “I’m so proud of you, sweetheart.”

Claire can’t help returning his smile, Peter can tell. He tries not to think of the distant, severe figure of his own father, who would never let such sentimental words pass his lips. “Yeah, I guess you can say we’ve done pretty well. Doubled our numbers by prying your old partner out of his precious swamp and our leader out of a seriously intimidating castle.”

Peter frowns in confusion at her words, wondering who their leader was and why he hadn’t seen them in the castle before, but he’s distracted by the complicated look Noah fixes on Sir Claude. “I never thought I’d see you outside Deveaux’s place, Claude.”

“You wouldn’t’ve, if our dear Claire hadn’t shown up. You’re right t’be proud of the girl, Bennet. She pulled off a stunt of deceit and manipulation that would put your best work to shame.”

Noah just grins and exchanges a glance with Claire, “That’s my girl.”

“Oh, don’t give me the credit,” she says, “It was all Hiro’s idea.”

Hiro cringes under the combined force of Noah’s approving nod and Sir Claude’s glare. He awkwardly begins, “When in battle... sacrifices must be...”

“Relax, Hiro,” Noah tells him, “He’ll get over it eventually, once he realizes how bored stiff he was out in that swamp.”

“Keep your opinions to yourself, friend,” Sir Claude growls, “Not sure I’ve forgiven and forgotten that arrow you put in my chest.”

Peter lays a calming hand on Sir Claude’s shoulder, as much for his comfort as to drive away images of the knight so badly injured. Claude gives him a glance and a one-sided smile before turning back to Noah, who now watches them both. Peter feels tension run through the muscle under his hand, but he doesn’t move it. He recalls sending Noah flying by more than just the force of his hands.

\- _You’ll get more of the same if you hurt Claude again._ -

Peter blinks and shakes his head. That thought didn’t sound like his. But then, it did, too. “Can we keep going now?” he asks quietly, “I- I want to go to the castle.” _Nathan will help me figure this out._

“Yeah, enough o’ this messing about,” Sir Claude says, “Bennet, I suppose you can come along, if you behave yourself.”

“I’ll do my best,” Noah replies with a sarcastic slant. Sir Claude just grins and turns away, his hand slipping to the small of Peter’s back.

***

Claude sneaks glances at Peter as they walk. The prince’s head is bowed, face uncharacteristically shuttered for his daytime self. He keeps so close to Claude their shoulders brush more often than not. _He sent Bennet up a good four feet back there. Must have_ some _access to his marks. And that could be a very big problem._ He’s seen people with multiple marks before, a few times. Empaths, as rare as they were dangerous. Those few were less people and more gibbering piles of madness torn to pieces by their warring marks. And if Claire was right about the collection Peter has amassed, and if the whole thing fell on his shoulders while the sun was up... “Gone noon, ain’t it?” he says, “How ‘bout we rest a bit?”

Nods and murmured agreements all around, followed by packs dropped on the grass.

“Right. Pete?”

The prince looks to him, the usual bright eyes and ready smile.

“Let’s take a walk, yeah? Need to discuss a few things with you.”

The smile widens, shines. “Okay, sure.”

Claude leads Peter away from the group, wisely avoiding the various gazes he feels following them. He feels a pang of regret for inviting Noah along- it’s bad enough already with Claire’s knowing little smirks. As if she has any idea what’s going on in his head. Claude believes he’s made it intensely clear his only goal is going home to his quiet life of solitude in the swamp, and there’s no room there for spellbound princes. None at all.

“Sir Claude?”

“Just- Claude, is fine, mate. I promise.” Another smile, accompanied by the faintest rosy flush. _Fucking hell, lad looks like an oil painting or something._ Claude clears his throat and scrubs a hand over his face. “Y’have a question?”

“Uh, kind of. It’s just... something I’ve been noticing lately. Is there stuff you aren’t telling me? I feel like... like I’m supposed to know more than I do.”

A knot tightens in Claude’s chest and he has to look away. “Ah, well... Nothing... What I’ve told you has been what you needed to know. But, you’re right. There’s more. And that’s what we’re doing here. Now.”

Peter nods, “Oh. Well, good.”

“Yeah...” Steeling himself, Claude faces the prince again, “You’re marked, Peter.”

He blinks, “Yeah, I kind of figured that out when... I mean, I don’t think I could push someone so hard they’d fly off the ground like that.”

“Right, you’re- you can’t. What you did was use telekinesis, moving things with your mind.”

“My mind did that?”

“Sort of, yeah.”

“I can push things with my mind...” His tone is pensive, to Claude’s relief. Terror, rage, disgust- those were among the most common responses to similar news in the past.

“Push, pull, lift, lower, turn upside down- whatever you want if you’ve got the space to move it in. Here, try this.” Claude reaches down to snag a loose twig off the forest floor. He stabs it into the dirt so it stands on its own. He crosses his arms and turns to Peter, “Give it a tug. Pull it out.”

The prince looks uncertain, eyes darting from the twig to Claude a few times, but he stands straight and steady and focuses only on the twig. His hands rise, though he doesn’t seem to notice. Claude cracks a grin at the look of intensity on Peter’s face- a pale echo of the almost ever-present scowl he wears at night. A minute passes before the twig even twitches. But then it starts trembling as if reacting to a sharp wind blowing in Peter’s direction.

“There you are, Pete, got it wigglin’ now. Y’can stop if you like.”

“No- no, I can do it,” his voice is low, harsh. Again, like something Claude would expect hours from now.

“Do what, mate? It’s a stick. Don’t tire yourself out over it, we’ve still a ways to go today.”

“I can... I have to try...”

Claude frowns and steps forward with Peter’s name a soft murmur on his lips.

The prince glances up at him- and it’s like a rope is thrown around his waist as he’s yanked forwards, feet barely managing to stay under him before he’s chest-to-chest with Peter, vision filled with brown eyes and he really can’t say anymore if they belong to the day or the night.

Steadying hands land on his waist, and Claude’s own hands find their way to Peter’s shoulders quite on their own. “Sorry about that,” the prince breathes.

“It’s okay. We’ll work on it.”

“That’d be good.” Peter’s fingers curl slightly, and it’s enough to send a bolt of heat through Claude that makes him pull away even as he wants to close the distance between himself and Peter.

Just in time, too, as Claire manages to inject innuendo into a simple clearing of her throat. “You two ready to get moving again? Or, do you need some more alone time?”

“Actually,” Peter says before Claude can find words, “Could you come back in like f-”

“On our way, Claire, thanks,” he finally manages. He desperately tries not to feel the prickly rush of blood in his ears, and points south. He doesn’t dare glance at Peter for longer than it takes to say, “Come on then, can’t hang round here all day.”

He marches off after Claire, and a disappointed sigh sounds just like wind in the trees.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which bad decisions are made, and preparations are made to deal with the fall-out.

 

Night falls, and Bennet watches Peter transform with no more reaction than the lift of an eyebrow. The rebel leader nods at him, “Good to see you, Noah.”

“Likewise.”

They continue walking, as Bennet made mention of an abandoned windmill not far away that would be a welcome change to sleeping outdoors. _Welcome for most at least_ , Claude thinks as he spots a darker shadow than usual pass over Peter’s face. Claude wonders what could be going on in that bifurcated mind as the tall structure of the windmill appears, white paint almost glowing in the moonlight.

They set down their packs inside and make a camp fire by the door outside. Conversation doesn’t last very long, even though they’re all aware that serious strategy will be needed to infiltrate Danko’s castle. The night is soft and cool. Bennet’s the first to give a yawn and stretch and head into the mill to sleep. Claire and Hiro follow not long after. The fire crackles and pops and Claude keeps his eyes firmly fixed upon it because Peter’s bound to notice the glances if he hasn’t already.

“Claude?”

He tries to keep the curse and the thrill off his face. “Yeah?”

“I’ve been wondering... what made you come back, after the first night? Why’d you stay?”

Claude swallows and counts embers, “Well, couldn’t exactly leave you as you were, lost little lamb with no idea how to get back to his people. Most pathetic thing I’d ever seen.”

“Okay, that answers the first question. What about the second? I thought you said you’d done your part in my precious crusade.”

Claude quirks an uncomfortable smile to hear his own harsh words. He turns his gaze to the woods and chastises himself for ruining his night vision, while below that his mind scrambles for something to say that’s not, _Because I badly wanted to snog you senseless this afternoon and that want hasn’t gone away with the sun. Because I know damn well it’s not about the bloody swamp anymore, it’s about you. And I don’t know what any of it means, and the worst part is the plain fact that I don’t want to run._ Claude shrugs, “Bennet was right. ‘M bored of the swamp.”

He risks a glance at Peter and finds an expression on his face that’s damn near one he’d wear during the day- all wide eyes, raised brows, and slightly parted lips. “Claude, you know I’m an empath, right?”

He nods, “Claire filled me in, yeah.” He thinks back to what she told him. Fire, ice, healing, strength, flight... And then there were the mental ones. Moving objects, making illusions, reading... _Uhh..._

Peter’s... Peter’s _smirking_ , the bastard. “You’re here for me?”

_Shit damn buggering fuck._ “Be bloody pointless to say no, wouldn’t it?” he grinds out.

“Pretty much.”

Claude stands, “Well then, lovely chat, this was, see ya’ in the morning, your highness.” He heads for the windmill, and is intercepted by Peter with only one more step to go.

“You didn’t let me finish.”

“How ‘bout you save it for tomorrow night, yeah?”

“I don’t think so.” There’s a warm hand sliding up Claude’s arm he can’t seem to make himself shake off. It turns him around to face Peter. “I’m sorry I accidentally heard your thoughts. I’m a little rusty at controlling my marks. Just know I wasn’t trying to pry.”

“I’m relieved. Can I go to bed now?”

“Sure. If you take me with you.”

Claude chokes out a laugh and crosses his arms over his chest, “Not one to waste time, are ya’, mate?”

“I’ll waste time when I’m not at war.” He moves closer, erasing Claude’s personal space, and the man flinches. Turns his face away.

Peter’s words waft like flame on the skin of his neck, “We don’t have to kiss if you don’t want to. But I know you want this, and _all_ of me does too. And you have to know this could easily be our only opportunity.”

“Yeah, I know,” Claude replies, and doesn’t dare think how long it’s been since his voice sounded so breathless, since it was only a handful of hours, “Just not sure you do.”

Peter’s head drops and the tip of his nose brushes Claude’s skin just before he steps away. “Am I acting in a manner unbefitting my station?” His tone bites.

“Couldn’t say, but I should think we’ve more to worry about than a quick shag in a windmill. I couldn’t help noticing the distinct _lack_ of a plan proposed for when we get where we’re going. What’re you gonna do, Peter? Walk up and ring the bell? ‘S only five of us- four and a half in the daytime. If you couldn’t take on Danko three years ago, with however many more followers behind you, I don’t see how we’ll have much luck now.”

He’s won back a few feet, Peter and his dangerous warmth a much more manageable figure hunched by the fire. It’s a hollow victory.

“Look, mate, I’m not tellin’ you how to run your- your...”

“Precious crusade?”

“If you like. I just...” _Can’t stand thinkin’ of you rushing in like a moron and getting hurt or worse_ , the thought forms before he can remember to hide it.

Peter’s eyes flash and sharpen to a burning glare. “You see that kid- or whoever I am during the day- and you think that’s me. You have no idea who I am. Or what I’ve done, or what I can do.”

He steps forward again and Claude thinks he’s going to stalk into the windmill, but instead Peter stops in front of him and lays a hand over his eyes. “ **Sleep now**.”

Claude droops against the wall, a heavy exhaustion invading his body. Before his eyes slip shut, he watches Peter walk into the forest.

***

Claire opens her eyes and watches dust swirl through a shaft of morning light. She sits up and takes note of Hiro and her father’s sleeping forms, as well as the lack of Peter and Claude’s. She allows a small grin, wondering if she’ll find them curled up together by the fire. Deciding she could do with a good laugh, Claire leaves her bed roll and steps outside. She finds only charred wood, and Claude slumped down next to the door. Frowning, she crouches next to him and gives his shoulder a gentle shake, “Uncle Claude? Wake up, it’s morning.”

He grunts and gingerly levers himself into a sitting position. His spine cracks impressively, “Bloody hell, feels like someone took a stick to my back.”

“Yeah, that’ll happen, sleeping all curled up against the wall. What were you doing out here, keeping guard? I thought we decided that was Peter’s job, since he’s awake anyway.”

“Peter...?” Claude rubs his eyes and groans, “Oh shit- Peter.”

“What? Claude, did something happen last night?”

“Guess you could say that. He’s gone.”

“... Gone. Gone as in, left us in the night and hasn’t come back?”

“Yeah. Unless he came back after putting me to sleep and’s safe and sound in the mill.” Claude glances at her, “He’s not, is he?”

“No.” Claire shifts heavily into a sitting position and glowers into the middle distance. “Well, shit.”

“I’m guessing this isn’t something he makes a habit of. No leader of men type, solitary contemplation on the eve of battle kind of thing.”

“Not in my experience.” She looks over at Claude, “So? Are you going to tell me what happened or not?”

Claude pouts and squirms like an overgrown child, but eventually heaves a sigh, “We were talking. And I maybe... might’ve... implied that... he had no plan for how to defeat Danko and he was going to get himself and by extension the rest of us killed.”

Claire shuts her eyes and enjoys the fact that she can’t get ulcers. “Nice. Very nice, Uncle Claude. Now our leader is wandering around in his daytime form- lost, confused, and completely defenseless.”

“Well, we can track him, can’t we?”

“When Peter doesn’t want to be found, he can’t be found,” Claire replies flatly. “And if he’s going where I think he’s going... well, even Peter _himself_ might have trouble finding it.”

“Where’s that?”

Her eyes are flat blue stones as she says, “The carnival.”

Claude all but gapes at the girl, “The Sullivan Brothers Carnival?”

“Do you know another? We tried the first time to get them to side with us- we had the younger brother’s support, but the older one, Joseph, he was only interested in protecting his own. We actually ended up _losing_ people to them.”

“Not surprising. Only place in the kingdom searchers can’t go. Live in peace, in the open- can’t say I wasn’t tempted myself, after I left the castle guard.”

“Right. And since I’m assuming our small numbers figured into your ‘implication,’ I think Peter’s going to try to fix that.”

“An’ get himself captured in the process. Lovely.”

“Well, the carnival wouldn’t exist without an agreement with Danko. Odds are that agreement doesn’t allow them to harbor fugitive rebel leaders.”

Claude gets on his feet and Claire follows him. “Right then, I’d better be off.”

She blinks, “ _You’d_ better be off? You want the rest of us to just sit tight and wait for you?”

“I got us in this situation, Claire, I’ll fix it.”

She crosses her arms and cocks a hip, “Oh, so you’re _that_ good a tracker, you can find a man who probably lifted right off the ground and flew at least a few miles?”

That brings Claude up short.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Stay here, I’ll get Dad and Hiro.”

***

When Peter wakes up the next morning, he’s walking. Which is confusing enough, without also being completely alone. He stops, and realizes his feet and legs are throbbing. _How long have I been walking?_

_About six hours._

Peter starts, whipping around to find whoever answered him, “Uhh...”

_Relax... Peter. I’m here to help. Or, I guess you’re helping me. But right now I’m helping you help me._

“... I’m confused.”

_That makes two of us. Kind of. Just listen to me, and everything will be fine._

“Where am I going right now?” he asks, beginning to walk again.

_Good question. You’re going to the carnival, Peter._

“The carnival? Why?”

_Because we have friends there. Friends who will help us._

“I don’t know anyone from the carnival. I’ve never been there. It’s not safe.”

_You may not know them, but they know you. Hasn’t that been happening a lot lately?_

“... Yeah. Yeah, it has. Can I ask a question?”

_It’s your voice box, for the moment._

“Where are the others? Claude and his vassals. We usually travel together. Actually, we’re supposed to be going to the castle. My brother Nathan is waiting for me.”

_No, he’s not._

Peter stops. Blinks. “What?”

_You’re gonna find out sooner or later, it might as well be from- me. Nathan’s gone, Peter. No one’s seen him in years. He’s almost definitely dead._

A wave of shocked sorrow brings Peter to his knees. “N-no. No, he can’t... I didn’t...”

_Peter, get up. Keep walking. Look, I got over it, so can you._

He wants to obey, but grief has opened up a fissure in his chest, and he crumples around it, bitter tears spilling down his face in sharp sobs.

_Peter..._

“Shut up!” he snarls, “I don’t even know you! Go away! Sir Claude! Claude! Please help me!”

_Forget Claude! He’s not here- it’s just us. We don’t need him, we can do this on our own. Now **get up.**_

Peter’s on his feet.

**_Forget Nathan. Forget Claude. Walk._ **

Peter’s mind empties. He walks.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there's a new arrival and a not-so-new one, the latter of which has a lot of information to share.

Claire swallows her guilt, and shakes Hiro awake. “Hiro, we have a problem.”

The young man stirs, “Hm... Problem?”

“Peter’s gone.”

Hiro’s eyes flick open.

“He left last night. I think he’s going to try to recruit the carnival again.”

Hiro sits up, “Dangerous! That’s too dangerous!” He looks out into the morning, “Day time. Even more dangerous.”

“I can’t believe he meant to be gone past dawn if he didn’t have some kind of plan.”

Hiro gives her an uncertain look which Claire can’t help returning. Peter has an impulsive streak, they both know it. They just hoped he’d keep it under control until they got through this.

“Either way,” Claire continues, “We have to find him. I think we should go to the carnival first and catch him.”

“How do we find it first? We are four, he’s one- travels much faster.”

Claire takes a small breath, briefly closes her eyes, and says, “It’ll be easier to enchant my compass to find the carnival than to find Peter.”

Hiro’s face goes dark. “No. Bad idea, Claire, very bad. I already did one spell, and see what happened. This would be even more.”

“Hiro, you can do this, I know you can. I know you learned more in the past than you say.”

“Bad idea then, bad idea now.” He crosses his arms over his chest.

“You sound like Claude,” Claire says quietly.

Hiro flinches, and looks away. His eyes are unfocused- no doubt looking back across time to whatever hurt him so badly.

“Hiro... if Peter walks into the carnival, it’ll be the same as walking into the dungeon, or worse. We _have_ to find him. I can’t think of any other way, can you?”

She pulls the compass from her pocket and folds it into his palm. He stares at it, his face the picture of desolation.

“Please...”

“She’s right, Hiro.” They jump to see Noah sitting up in his bed roll, watching them. “Either Peter’s in serious danger, or he’s gotten the Sullivans to turn on Danko. We need to be with him now more than ever.”

Hiro swallows. “He knows,” the young man whispers, “Every time, he knows. He sees. I didn’t tell you before. Was not sure...”

“What do you mean?” Claire asks, kneeling close and laying a hand on Hiro’s arm.

He doesn’t answer, just takes a deep, shaky breath and closes his eyes. His fingers close around the compass and his head bows over it. After a moment, a strange current buzzes into Claire’s hand. She brings it away with a shiver and a prayer that she’s doing the right thing. Claire and Noah stand, and creep out of the windmill, leaving Hiro to his work.

Claude is frowning at them as they emerge. “That’s your solution? Foist it off on a lad who failed to break one spell?”

“That was different,” Claire replies, struggling to keep her voice calm, “That wasn’t his spell. He had almost no idea what he was doing.”

“But this he does all the time.”

She sends him an even glare, “He can do it. And considering where this problem started, I think you should be more supportive.”

That breaks Claude’s protest. He gazes out at the woods when he asks, “How long will it take?”

“As long as it needs to take,” comes Claire’s terse response, but no sooner have the words left her mouth than Hiro stumbles out of the windmill, face ashen and clenched hand steaming.

Claude’s the first to break free of surprise, going to Hiro’s side and holding him up. “Whoa there, mate, why don’t you have a sit down?”

“No... no,” Hiro mumbles, pushing himself away from Claude and getting his balance. He peels his fingers back to reveal the compass. When Claire cranes to look, she sees the needle spinning so fast it’s a blur. It stops sharply, pointed sure as death to the east. Hiro immediately starts walking in that direction, muttering, “Hurry, must hurry...”

The other three can only snatch up their belongings and follow.

***

The cloud of the voice’s command lifted hours ago, but Peter’s still walking. He’s tired, hot, thirsty, and hungry, but all that pales when compared to the feeling in his mind. Like something squirming in the back of his skull, thinking and working and telling him how to find the carnival. He doesn’t want to go there. All his life it’s been a forbidden place, a band of traveling marked that any sensible person would steer clear of. But then, _he_ is marked. It’s all tied up in something he doesn’t understand. Something’s happened, something he can’t remember, and now he’s... not who he once was. Who he’s supposed to be. That naturally leaves him wondering just who he _is_ , but that makes a bubble of panic float up in his chest so he tries not to think about it.

Tears are sliding down his cheeks again. They come and go. Whatever it is that’s in Peter’s head permits them, they are a pressure valve on his grief. So much of him doesn’t want to believe what the voice said about Nathan, but he knows it’s true. Couldn’t say _how_ he knows, but he does.

_Dry your eyes, we’re almost there._ An image flashes in his mind- a man’s face. High forehead and shadowed eyes, skeletal cheekbones and thin lips.

“Is he our friend?”

_Close enough._

“What’s his name?”

_Samuel Sullivan._

Peter walks into a field of wheat, soft stalks rippling in the breeze, turned golden in the late afternoon sun. If he squints, he can just make out a figure in the distance, facing the sunset.

“What should I say to him? I don’t know...”

_Tell him... Tell him I’m ready if he is._

“Okay...”

Peter gets within ten feet of the man before he turns to the prince. Samuel says nothing, his expression is interested but nothing more.

“I... I’m ready if you are,” Peter says, trying to inject into his voice all the confidence he doesn’t have.

Samuel stares at him for a moment, and then his face splits into a toothy smile that quickly becomes full-throated laughter that makes his shoulders shake.

At a loss, Peter offers, “Actually, it’s the voice in my head that’s ready. He told me to tell you that.”

Samuel just laughs harder, doubling over and slapping his thigh. Eventually, he straightens, wipes tears from his eyes, and says, “Oh, you’re in a heap of trouble, aren’t you?”

Peter wilts a little, stating glumly, “I think so, yeah.”

“Look like you’ve been on your feet a long while.”

He nods, “All day.”

Samuel hums, “Sorry to hear that. I suspect you want to come home with me, then?”

“Uh, I’m not sure...” _Do I?_

_You don’t have much of a choice, I’m afraid. But ask him how Joseph is._

Peter gives another small nod, “Okay. Samuel?”

The man has been watching him with the earlier look of calm interest. “Yes?”

“How is Joseph?”

“Ah,” he says, lifting his eyebrows and chin once, “Joseph is... much the same. But he’s not nearly as all-knowing as he thinks he is.”

That makes no sense to Peter, but he feels the tentative approval of whatever is in his head. “Um, all right then. Let’s go.”

He steps forward and Samuel comes to his side, laying a hand on his shoulder. “It’s good to see you again, Peter,” he murmurs in the prince’s ear. It’s enough like Nathan to make him smile, for a moment.

The carnival is coming alive for the evening, the soft glow of colored lanterns replacing bright sunshine. Samuel’s arm winds around Peter’s shoulders, tugs him in and keeps their heads close together as they walk. The prince would assume that since he’s with Samuel, he doesn’t have to fear the carnival’s marked as he would if he was alone, but the voice tells him to keep his eyes down, don’t draw attention. Samuel leads him up the stairs of an ornately carved wagon and inside, over to a bench built into the wall.

“There we are. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Uh, no.”

“Anybody who saw us’ll hold their tongues for now, if they know what’s good for ‘em. Doubt they recognized you even if they did.” Samuel fixes a sharper gaze on Peter, “Are you going to share with me what happened?”

Peter blinks and frowns, trying to put his thoughts in order. He thinks back, wonders if maybe the answers he doesn’t really want to find are in the early days, when he came to the castle. “I think... I think there was a man.”

“A man. Was it Danko?”

“The steward? No.” It’s foggy, the memories of those first few days. Wandering around the maze of crumbling stone, coming to the awful realization that he was trapped. And then the even worse realization that he wasn’t alone... But before that, “He was smiling. He said... He said...”

_“I don’t know if I like you better or worse this way, Peter. I suppose it’s a little of both. You’re not as interesting like this, but then...” The gentle stroke of a hand through his hair, “I can’t help feeling oddly paternal. I’ve created many things in my lifetime, but you are by far my favorite. I hope we meet again someday.”_

“Who was he, Peter?”

_“Until then, best of luck.” Walking away, leaving him on the cold front step of the castle._

“I... he was...”

_“Maybe you’ll learn something from all this, though I doubt it. Your kind never does,” the last words spoken to him for three years were tossed over a shoulder._

The memory shreds as yellow light fills Peter’s eyes. He sees Samuel jerk away before he sleeps.

***

_I don’t care if he has a million marks_ , Claude snarls in his mind, _when I find Peter I’m going to beat the shit out of him. I don’t know what he can do- I bloody well know he can act like an idiot!_ It’s been a long, tense day of travel. No breaks, eating and drinking on the move, following the compass needle as it leads them over hill and dale. The only blessing so far is that the carnival is apparently camped out a long way from Danko’s castle. They won’t have to chase it down, and it will be at least a day’s ride for even the most dedicated searcher party.

Night falls and Noah has the audacity to suggest taking a break. “You want to rest?” Claude snaps, “Fine. Have your rest. Catch up with us when you’re feeling better.”

Noah simply adjusts the shoulder strap of his pack, saying nothing. They follow the main road, knowing the carnival has stopped somewhere along it. Claude watches it wind ahead of them, and goes back to thinking how savagely he’s going to beat Peter, to avoid worrying if he’s all right. He spots something in the distance, and wonders if he really should get some rest, because it looked like flashes of blue light. But no, there they are again, glinting along the road. Bursts of blue light, like sparks, popping around a shadowed figure...

“Elle... Elle!” Claire exclaims, and she’s sprinting past Claude and down the road to the young woman walking towards them.

Claude, Noah, and Hiro run to catch up, and find the pair embracing even as lightning crackles over them and scorches Claire’s clothes.

“Claire... please,” Elle is whispering in a rusty sounding voice, “Let go, I- I don’t have control.”

“I don’t care.”

Elle lets out a shaky breath, and submits to being held. Her eyes slip shut and her sallow face gains a peace Claude has never seen. “I can’t believe I found you.”

They make a fire. Claude still feels the driving need to press on, find the carnival, find Peter, but Elle is tired. She sits close to the flames, her hand held tight in Claire’s. Blue sparks travel between them and Claire twitches in silence, the smile never entirely leaving her face.

“When we left, you were...” Hiro struggles, “... not you. What broke the spell?”

Elle shoots him a crooked grin, “Duh, Claire kissed me.” Confusion all around is palpable enough to make Elle roll her eyes, “True love- does that ring any bells? Haven’t you guys ever read any of the stories from the old days? Nothing works better on curses than a kiss from that special someone.” She shares a warm, lingering look with Claire.

She returns it, before it’s replaced by a puzzled expression, “I kissed your cheek and broke the spell? But, we didn’t... you looked the same.”

“Were you expecting fireworks?” Elle inquires, “Anyway, it didn’t happen right away.” She frowns, “It was weird. I kept falling asleep at dawn and waking up at sunset. Like, right at dawn and right at sunset, no matter where I was or if I was tired or not.”

Claude shifts closer, “But that stopped. You... you broke free.”

“Yeah... It took a while, though. I don’t know... During the day, I was... different. Angry, and numb. And the lightning...” Her face crumples and tears well in her eyes.

Claire switches her grip on Elle’s hand from her right to her left, and wraps her right arm around her shoulder. Sparks still glitter around the pair. “Shh, it’s okay now. That’s all over.”

“No, no, it’s not. I can’t... _live_ like this, with my mark.” She covers her face with her free hand beneath lazily swelling arcs of blue.

“Do you know who did this, Elle?” Noah asks, “Who made your mark go haywire? Made you... not you?”

Elle takes a few composing breaths, “An old friend. I guess you could say we were playmates. I went to visit him a few times as a child.”

“Where?”

Her eyes are flat and distant when she looks at Noah, “The dungeon.”

Claude’s eyes close as long avoided memories sting him. Wild little Elle with her blue eyes and blue sparks. He’ll never forgive himself for letting fear drive him so far away, and then keep him from going back for her. His fingers press unconsciously to his scar.

“I remember, when I was taken down there... They were really curious about what I could do. Danko, you know, it’s not that he hates us. He just doesn’t think we’re human.”

“Elle,” Claire murmurs, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

The woman gives her a crooked smile, “Relax, Blondie, he didn’t do this. Danko couldn’t figure it out, shockingly enough. His pet wizard did.”

That sends a ripple through the group. “A wizard?” Claude says, “Y’mean, like, an _actual_ wizard. From the old war.” He remembers- a locked cell in the dungeon, sounds of movement behind it that stilled when he passed, the unnerving feeling that someone was listening... He’d hurried on, determined to take Elle out of that place for good. If he’d only known Noah had been put on his trail the day before...

“That’s the one,” Elle replies, “Apparently his specialty was immortality. He survived the war, and has spent the last few centuries underground, and every new ruler has to keep him there. It’s their big bad secret. Danko’s the first to let him come out and play.”

“What’s his name?” Noah asks.

“Adam Monroe.”

“Takezo Kensei,” Hiro’s reply comes almost concurrent with Elle’s. Everyone’s eyes dart to the young man, who stares at the fire. “He was Kensei when I met him.”

“Hiro,” Claire says slowly, “I think you need to open up about what happened in the past.”

Elle’s mouth falls open in a drawn out, “Ohh. _You’re_ Hiro. Hunh. I thought you’d be taller.”

His cheeks flush dark as Claire demands, “Hiro, what did you _do_?”

“Mistake! All a big mistake. My father told stories of the greatest wizard, Takezo Kensei. I... in the past, I would learn from him. Come back a great warrior. But... I did not find Takezo Kensei as my father said. He was... cruel. Insane. Did only what amused him. Like the other spellcasters. Stories are right, the magic war was terrible.”

“Hiro,” Elle says, “You seduced his princess. And you broke his heart.”

If anyone wasn’t listening before, they definitely are now. “No! No, no, no,” Hiro cries, waving his hands and shaking his head in self-defense, “It was not like that!”

“That’s not what Adam thinks,” she counters.

Hiro sighs noisily, “Big mistake.”

A moment of deeply awkward silence passes. Claude clears his throat, “On that disturbing revelation, I think it’s time we decided what our next move is.” He looks to Elle, “We need to find a place for you to go where you’ll be safe. Can’t have you wandering the countryside throwing sparks like confetti.”

Disappointment flashes across Elle’s face, but she nods, “Right.”

“What?” Claire cries, “No! No. After everything she’s been through, everything _we’ve_ been through- no. Elle’s staying with us. She’s only _safe_ with us. It’s a miracle she hasn’t gotten in trouble with some townspeople already.”

“Claire...” Elle murmurs.

“Shush, I’m not letting you leave. Where would she even go? Look, the spell is fading. She’s not changing during the day. Her mark will go back to normal too, sooner or late-”

Elle’s free hand takes hold of Claire’s chin, and brings their lips firmly together. Claire lets out a surprised noise- and another as yellow light beams out from their bodies. The beams shine brighter and brighter until the women are completely obscured before they blink out.

Claude squeezes his eyes shut, trying to rid them of purple spots. “What the fuck was that?!”

Elle and Claire are still sitting where they were. Claire’s face is blank with amazement, she’s panting slightly. Elle wears a happy smile. Her face has changed- lost the look of haggard malnutrition. Even her hair seems cleaner. “There. I thought that might help.” She lifts a hand, snaps her fingers. One blue spark pops out and floats away, “Much better.” She glances around at the others, “Were those the fireworks you all were looking for?”

Hiro’s the first to snap out of his shock, “Yes! The spell, it is gone now?”

“With the wind. It turns out really sending it packing requires a little tongue action. Anyway, sorry to interrupt your impassioned defense, Claire. Please continue, I love seeing you get all militant and protective.”

“... I, uh- well... Yeah, she’s staying.”

“You got it, Claire,” Claude replies, “More importantly, now we know what’ll stop Peter’s age-jumping. We’ve got to find out where his one true love’s hiding. Bloody hell, that could take ages...”

A pointed silence falls over the group. Claude feels at least three pairs of eyes land on him and stick.

“What? What’re you lot starin’ at?”

Claire’s look gains a cocked eyebrow, “Are you sure that’s how you wanna play it, Uncle Claude?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he sniffs.

The silence balloons, pressing harder and harder on Claude.

He frowns and shifts uncomfortably, “Look, just ‘cause the lad imprinted on me like a duckling back at the castle an’ I didn’t have the heart to tell him to shove off, you’re all set to pin the... the... blue ribbon on me. Well y’can just forget it, all right?” He jumps to his feet, “Put out the fire and get your packs. It’d take more luck than anyone here ever had to get the carnival to come to us.”

He stalks off into the dark, leaving the others to gather up their things. He can hear the grin in Elle’s voice as she says, “Oh yeah, this is gonna be fun.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which true allies and true enemies are revealed.

 

Samuel won’t let Peter leave the caravan, even masked in an illusion. “There’s nowhere you need to go, and nothing for you out there but danger,” he said bluntly, “Trust me, patience was never my strong suit, but even I know when it’s the best approach.”  
  
“My friends will figure out where I’ve gone. They’ll be coming. I need the carnival on my side before they get here.” Peter didn’t bargain for how slow his daytime self would travel. He might have been able to break through the yellow fog and guide his movements, but any marks that would’ve shortened the trip were frustratingly inaccessible. And now he’s worn out, almost as desperate for some real sleep as he is to make sure Claude and the others don’t walk straight into a trap.

“I understand, Peter, but this isn’t a thing that’ll happen in a heartbeat.” Samuel grabs a dark red silk vest from a chair and slips it over his cotton shirt, “I’ll go put a few words in the right ears. In the meantime, get some rest. You looked a helluva lot better when the sun was up.”

He leaves, and Peter accepts the fact that he has almost definitely made a huge mistake. He sighs, rubs his tired eyes, and murmurs, “Okay. First thing’s first.”

He moves to the caravan’s door, takes hold of the handle, and freezes it shut. Along with most of the doorjamb on the right side as well before he can peel his hand away. He sighs again and tries to find his place of calm control. All he can think of are his friends being attacked as they approach the carnival. Claire, Noah, and Hiro could potentially escape- he knows they can fight. But Claude... Peter can’t say if he has the kind of combat experience the others have. _He’ll run. He’ll turn invisible and run. He’ll be fine._ Assuming the carnival hasn’t picked up anyone who can detect an invisible person. _I’ve screwed up big time._

Peter moves to the side of the caravan that faces away from the carnival. Hands pressed to the wood, he forces away every thought and slowly phases through. Once he’s halfway out, he calls up an illusion to cover himself. _A boy_ , he thinks, someone innocent, harmless, unnoticeable. An image floats up before him- and he is startled almost out of phasing. His own face stares at him, but he knows it’s the one he wears during the day. The image’s mouth opens and closes, but he hears no words. It reaches for him, and he squeezes his eyes shut, wishing to recoil but unable to. He stumbles free of the caravan’s wall and opens his eyes- the illusion has changed. A much younger boy, someone he’s never seen, someone who’s never existed, plays with a wooden sword. He sighs in relief, shaking off a shiver.

After that it’s quick work of finding Samuel as he strides through the carnival. Peter’s illusion dashes and gambols in front of him, never far from Samuel but ignored as any unknown child would be when not causing trouble. If any of the carnival’s marked sees through the illusion, Peter doesn’t detect it in their thoughts.

They walk past various colored tents until they reach another wooden caravan, smaller than Samuel’s. The man walks inside without knocking- Peter catches a glimpse of a woman sitting on a bench before the door shuts and locks. _Lydia._ Three years ago she wanted a better life for herself and her daughter, but not enough to defy Joseph. Peter takes a position near the caravan, and listens as closely as he can to their thoughts.

Samuel is excited. He’s been waiting a long time for this. He’ll finally be free of the leash Danko puts on him through Joseph. _Oh, so he really_ is _on my side. Now I feel bad about the door frame._

Lydia’s thoughts draw Peter from his own. She does not share Samuel’s feelings this time. She’s terrified. Her daughter’s name ricochets through her head. _Amanda. Amanda. Amanda._ She has to run, she has to hide, get their things together and get out of here before it’s too late. It will be a bloodbath- searchers swooping in to exterminate the bad seed and anything he’s touched. But she hates to leave their home. Maybe... maybe she can stop this before it even starts. _Amanda. Amanda. Joseph. Tell Joseph._

Peter shuts his eyes with a grimace. He had a glimmer of hope there, just for a moment. _It’s all going wrong, again._

_It’ll be okay._

Peter starts, and frowns, “Oh great. I thought that was you back there. Listen, just go to sleep, okay? It’s past your bedtime and the grown-ups have stuff to do.”

_Sorry, just trying to help._

“I... yeah, I know.” He leans on the caravan’s wheel, propping up an elbow and wrapping his hand around his forehead. “I don’t know what to do,” he softly admits, “The others are coming- there’s no way for me to warn them...”

_The steward, Danko. Did he kill Nathan?_

“Probably. He’s killed a lot of people.”

_He’s not alone. There’s someone with him._

“What?”

_He’s dangerous, Peter. More than Danko. Please tell me he won’t hurt anyone._

“Who is he? Who are you talking about?”

_Don’t let him. If you can’t do it, I will._

Peter is about to ask what on Earth the prince thinks he can do, but the caravan door flies open and Samuel bounds out, goes back in the direction of his own caravan. Peter waits until Lydia emerges. She’s all long hair, wide eyes, and loose clothes as she pads in the opposite direction. As he follows, Peter thinks about stopping her somehow. He’s never killed anyone that wasn’t attacking him directly. He wonders where self-defense truly starts...

_No. No, please don’t. She’s scared. She just wants to protect her daughter._

“She’ll ruin everything. Any chance of winning...” He could raise a hand and crush her throat. It would be over in seconds.

_No, don’t do it. Do you hear me? Don’t!_

He has to do something. She can’t be allowed to talk. He has to protect his friends.

_They wouldn’t want you to do this! Please, Peter, I’m telling you to **STOP!**_

Peter stops.

**_Sleep._ **

Peter sleeps.

His illusion dissolves, and Lydia jumps to see a skipping boy vanish. She whips around at a sound behind her. There’s a man on his hands and knees, long bangs waving as he shakes. He goes still, and then... seems to waver slightly. He stands, and Lydia freezes as she registers Peter Petrelli’s scarred face.

But he smiles. “Hi, Lydia. It’s me, Peter.”

About half a second from bolting, Lydia says, “I know that.”

Another happy smile, which makes the count two more than she’s ever seen from him, before it’s schooled into solemnity, “Great. Uh, listen, we need to talk.”

***

It broke Joseph’s heart when Samuel told him he wanted to side with Peter, three years ago. He blames himself, and his father. They should’ve taught Samuel better. Instead they indulged the youngest-born, let him believe things could change for the carnival. Get better, when generation after generation of Sullivans have known- this is as good as it gets for people like them. Always small, always moving, never causing more trouble than can be hidden. That’s how a group of marked survive in a land that hates them.

But Samuel had dreams. Dreams so big and beautiful Joseph let them live. But now, like an exotic pet, they’ve grown dangerous. Joseph hopes someday Samuel will let them go, but until then he’s had to take steps.

He sits in the quiet dark of his caravan, and feels his connection to the whole of the carnival. He is the first Sullivan born an empath, and he’s yet to decide if it’s a gift or a curse. His small collection of marks squabble constantly like unruly children. He spends most of his time alone, keeping them in balance. Petty as it is, his instant dislike of Prince Peter comes from more than the threat he represents to the carnival.

But last year they found a finder. And Joseph absorbed the ability. Calling it an illness to Samuel’s face, he didn’t leave his caravan for a week as he adjusted to the new mark. His consciousness spread out like one of his own tents, stretching across to the carnival’s perimeter on all sides. He knows where his people are, he knows where their visitors are. He knows who leaves the carnival, and he knows who enters it.

He sees Peter Petrelli coming a mile away.

Joseph heaves a sorrowful sigh, prays that Samuel will understand with time, and reaches for a small cupboard near the floor of his caravan. He retrieves a sheet from the stack of paper he’d been given by Danko years ago¸ the only paper that was to be used in sending a message to the steward. Joseph peers at it, again trying to determine what made the white sheets different from any other, still unable to.

_You were right_ , he scribbles, _an old friend has returned._

No sooner are the words dry than a strange feeling fills the air, as if it’s been drawn tight and thin. Joseph gasps and his eyes go wide as an ache spreads through his chest. The paper crumples in his clenched fist. He almost passes out before the air _pops_ and he’s not alone. He lies weak and trembling as Lord Danko reaches out and plucks the page from his hand.

“Thanks, Joseph,” he says, “You’ve done very well.”

Joseph tries to speak, but something is wrong. His chest still hurts, pain spiking sharper with each heartbeat. He tastes copper, and there’s red in his eyes.

Danko frowns down at him, “Uh oh. The wizard told me that might happen, teleporting us both all the way from the castle. My apologies, Joseph. This isn’t the end I would’ve chosen for so good an ally.”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” a cultured voice says from the shadows, which are growing deeper and deeper, about to swallow Joseph up.

“S... S-Samuel...” he coughs around a mouthful of blood.

Danko smiles, “Oh, don’t worry about him. He’ll be along soon.”

Joseph desperately tries to fight the pain, to keep his eyes open, to find a mark to throw at his new enemy, but it’s no use. The shadows surround him, and he surrenders.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there’s the last of the set-up before the climax, I promise.

Peter feels like he’s breaking a rule. He keeps waiting for his nighttime self to wake up and take control, but he doesn’t. And that isn’t right. He knows now, his nighttime self is the _real_ Peter Petrelli. It should be _him_ doing these things. Peter’s stealing life from him just by existing, as he currently steals his face for an illusion. But Peter can’t forget the cold he felt when his other self was contemplating killing Lydia. He can’t- he can’t let that happen. And besides, he doesn’t want to die.

“I just need some time, Lydia, just until my friends get here.” He has no idea what will happen when they do, but he needs to say something to keep Lydia calm while she leads him through the secluded areas of the carnival.

“Peter, things haven’t changed since the last time you were here. No one in this carnival is a soldier, and no one’s interested in dying for your cause. Samuel’s the only person you’ll get any support from. You should just go. Now, while there’s still time.”

“I can’t let my friends walk into a trap.”

“No, you’ll just let them get stuck in it with you. That’s much better.” She rolls her eyes, and then lets out a huff, “Okay, okay. There might be a place you can hide for now.”

“Yes, great, thank you, Lydia. I promise I won’t let anything happen to you or Amanda.”

“Are you kidding? The second you’re hidden Amanda and I are out of here. She’s got enough control now, we can pass for normal. You worry about yourself.”

They walk into the black woods beyond the carnival. A few yards in Peter makes out the winking light of a fire. “Where are we going?”

“The punishment for breaking the rules here is exile, for however long Joseph sees fit. Offenders can follow the carnival but they can’t come near it until the sentence is served. This at least won’t be the _first_ place they’ll look for you, and with a little luck you might be able to catch your friends while they’re still on the road.”

“What- what did this... person do to be exiled?”

“None of your business,” Lydia replies. “Edgar,” she calls, “You have a visitor. Are you decent?”

A man looks up from where he’s seated by the fire, stony, suspicious face softening only a fraction at the sight of Lydia. And hardening again at the sight of Peter. He jumps to his feet, body poised for a fight, “What the hell’s he doin’ ‘ere?”

“Trying not to get killed, do you mind?”

“Yeah, if it gets _me_ killed instead.”

Lydia steps closer, lays a hand on his tense shoulder. “Listen, it’s just for a little while. Only me and Samuel know he’s here. You just keep him hidden until it’s time for him to go, and it’ll be like he was never here at all.” She leans close to him and murmurs something Peter can’t hear, though he does manage to catch Edgar’s soft “You mean it?” and see Lydia’s small nod. Edgar cups Lydia’s cheek in his palm, and kisses her. She covers his hand with hers until they separate.

“See ya’ soon,” Edgar says.

“Okay. You boys play nice now.” Lydia turns and melts back into the forest.

Peter stands awkwardly for a moment. “Lydia told me she was leaving the carnival with her daughter as soon as she could.”

“An’ I’m to follow them, leavin’ behind the only home I’ve ever known, after I go back t’say my goodbyes.” Edgar shoots Peter a wry look tinged with something deeper, “Makes you do strange things, love.”

Peter smiles around the pang in his heart. Edgar goes back to his seat by the fire, and Peter finds his own.

A beat passes before Edgar frowns, “There any way you can make yourself look less like a dangerous renegade?”

Peter blinks, and drops the mask of his nighttime self’s face.

Edgar shrugs, “That’ll do, I guess. You hungry?”

“Starving.”

***

Claire knows they’re getting close when carnival visitors begin passing them on the road. She spares a smile for a helpful soul who tells them, “Carnival’s closed if that’s where you’re headed. Come back tomorrow.”

They’ve been on the road long enough to dispel any possibility of reaching their destination before Peter. The most they can hope for is that he hasn’t fallen irretrievably into enemy hands.

Noah steps up to where Claire and Claude lead the group, “So how are we approaching this?”

“Very carefully,” Claude replies, “We’ve no idea what we’ll find when we get there. Best thing would be you lot hangin’ back while I take a look around.”

“He’s right,” Claire says, “They know our faces, but if they find him, they won’t know he’s with us unless he tells them. I don’t think the whole carnival will turn on us, but we need to know what’s going on before we all go in.”

Elle strides up behind Claire and drapes her arms over her shoulders, “How adorable is she, seriously? My little general.”

Claire’s face crumples to blushes and reluctant giggles, but she makes no move to shake off Elle’s arms.

Eventually they spot the still-lit tops of the carnival’s tents over the trees off the main road. Claude gazes up at them with a stoic expression, “Right. You should stop here. I’ll head inside, be back with an answer in half an hour.”

“Okay, Uncle Claude,” Claire says, and doesn’t hesitate to wrap her arms around his torso in a tight hug. Neither does Elle. Or Hiro. Noah, however, sticks to a handshake. Claude goes invisible and begins walking. Claire doesn’t bother making sure the footprints in the dirt are going in the right direction.

They wait, forcing rest despite the inescapable anxiety. After twenty minutes has passed, relief comes, but not in the form they expect.

“Guys! I’m so glad you’re here!” Peter cries as he exits the woods.

“Peter!” Claire doesn’t quite shriek. She flies at him, pounding his chest with her fists, “Why the _hell_ did you leave us? What the _hell_ were you _thinking_? You could’ve been _killed_ , you _idiot_! Never- ever- do that- AGAIN!”

“Ow! Ow- hey, Claire, ow, that hurts! Okay! Okay, I’m sorry! I’m sorry,” he pushes at her shoulders until she backs off, huffing and still furious.

“Peter,” Noah says, “Why do you look like... how you look during the day?”

He starts, “Oh, right, sorry. Uh, it’s an illusion, in case someone saw me. Hang on.” He turns away, and it seems to take a lot of concentration to drop the image and return to normal. He looks back at the group with a smile, “There. Better?”

“Both ways works for me,” Elle quips.

Peter’s eyes land on her and a sudden tremor seems to pass through him. He blinks a few times and says, “Uh, you’re... Elle, it’s... you’re okay now?”

“Yeah, Peter, she’s fine,” Claire replies, “Hey, guess what. We know how to break the spell, for good.”

If Peter doesn’t look overly thrilled about the news, Claire chalks it up to his usual grimace of an expression, “Oh. Uh, how?”

“Well, we kind of need your one true love. Any idea where he- or she might be?”

“My one true... I don’t really know.” He looks around the group and frowns, “Hey, where’s Claude?”

Claire smiles, but it falters, “He’s- oh, this isn’t good. He’s looking for you, Peter, in the carnival.”

Peter’s mouth falls open in shock, “He can’t be in the carnival, it’s not safe!”

“Peter,” a voice calls behind them. Claire whips around to find two men walking towards them, one with a pack on his back. In the pre-dawn gloom, it takes her a moment to recognize Edgar and Samuel. The former stops when he recognizes them, “Bloody hell, gang’s all here, innit?”

“Edgar, Samuel, what’s going on in the carnival?” Peter asks.

Samuel’s face is a frozen mask of anger and grief as he says, “Joseph’s dead. Danko... Danko and his... friend _killed_ my brother. He’s gatherin’ everyone together- I think he means to kill the whole carnival.”

Claire reels, “Danko’s friend- that has to be Adam. Shit, if he’s here we’re in even worse trouble than I thought.”

“We’ve gotta do something. Now.” Samuel nods to Edgar, who drops the pack and opens it, revealing half a dozen sheathed swords.

“Wow,” Hiro says, eyes gone wide.

“That’s quite a collection, Edgar,” Noah remarks.

“Thought it might come in handy, ‘specially for the mark-less among us,” he retorts.

Noah reaches down and picks up a weapon. Tests the weight in one hand, then looks up with a grin, “Well what are we waiting for?”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is an epic battle of good versus evil! Or at least, basically well-meaning versus mostly immoral.

A lifetime or two ago, Claude worked for the searchers. They were much more benign in those days, only bringing in marked who were actually dangerous, through a lack of control or abuse of their magic. Sometimes, they would end up sending the marked person to the Sullivan Brothers Carnival, where they could get help the searchers couldn’t provide. It was, if not a comfortable relationship, at least a cordial one, as long as the searchers stayed out.

After Claude’s... termination from the castle guard, joining the carnival had seemed an easy route to take. But he was tired. Tired of- everything, really, and following the death of his old friend Charles Deveaux, he decided he could do without the world for a while, and vice versa. So the vacant house in the swamp became his hideaway and the carnival remained a mysterious, forbidden place, even though it was the only place he would’ve been welcome.

_Yup, definitely an irony to all this_ , he muses as he wanders among the tents and caravans. Another night’s entertainment done, there should be marked all over the place, packing things away and getting ready to move on as the sun rose. But the place is oddly deserted. It takes him a moment to find the people where they’re gathered in a group on the main corridor of the carnival. A glance at their faces tells Claude they’re just as confused as he is.

But one face stands out. A man sidles around a tent, hands in his pockets. He’s dressed simply, with close-cropped blond hair, and he looks directly at Claude. He cocks his head and eyebrows to the left, directing Claude to follow him. Telling himself he’ll run if he needs to, this man could know where Peter is, Claude leaves the crowd and walks through several rows of tents, catching glimpses of the man as he goes. When Claude stops, he’s already there, waiting, a friendly smile on his face.

“How’d you see me?” Claude asks.

The smile grows, “No illusion’s got past me in some time, even one as simple and elegant as yours.”

Fear strikes deep in Claude’s gut, stops his heart. He’s a fool, and he’s just gotten himself killed. _I’m sorry, Peter._ “Adam Monroe, I presume.”

He performs a small bow, “Very good. And I know you, Claude Rains. I remember, in the dark,” his smile turns sharp and coy, “You tried to take my friend away.”

Claude swallows, “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh yes, you do. My little friend, the girl. Do you know how long it had been since I’d so much as _seen_ another person? Let alone do what you let me do to her.”

“Shut up!” Claude snarls, fear catching on guilt to flash into anger.

“You could have saved her, you know,” Adam continues, volume raising just enough to be heard, “If you tried harder. Came for her again after that arrow wound closed up. Instead you ran, how _far_ and _fast_ you ran. And then I _really_ had my fun. With her, and then with Peter-”

Forgetting everything, Claude lunges at him with a roar.

Adam neatly side-steps the attack, catching Claude’s wrists and holding him to his chest. “You really are something,” he whispers in Claude’s ear, “So much passion, so much pain. You care so _deeply_. How enchanting you are. I can already tell you’ll be my favorite pet.”

Claude struggles as hard as he can, but Adam holds him easily.

“There, there, no use tiring yourself out like that. I know what. Why don’t you **sleep**? I promise it will all be over by the time you wake up.”

Claude swears and jerks free of Adam’s grasp, only to fall in the dirt as the world goes dark around him.

***

Lord Danko is mildly concerned. He wishes Joseph hadn’t died so suddenly. Simply knowing that Peter Petrelli is somewhere in the carnival is almost meaningless when one steps out into the labyrinth of tents and caravans. Adam is uncharacteristically useless, able to give no more detail to Peter’s location than “close.” They’ve spent the whole night searching, hidden by magic among the marked, with absolutely nothing to show for it. But now dawn is coming, and even if Peter surfaces, Adam assures Danko that the spell cast on him has been tampered with but not broken. Peter will be the man they made three years ago- weak, cowardly, and obedient.

Danko swears once all of this business with Petrelli is done he’ll get back on track. No more dabbling in distasteful magic, consorting with marked. He is a soldier, he understands the necessities of war, but he must assert himself. The time for exile is over. Now, he will exterminate all of the throwbacks to a dangerous and unstable era. The kingdom will be pure and calm again. He will see to that. And his very first action will be wiping out the last of the corrupted Petrelli clan, dear Peter, and the last safe haven for the marked, their precious carnival.

Sullivan’s marked are all gathered now, like sheep. As unpleasant as it was at the time, Danko’s glad he put in a few visits before now, made the animals accustomed to his presence. Or at least less likely to become suspicious as he leaves Joseph’s caravan and approaches them, stepping onto the circular stand from which Samuel would announce the latest shows. He takes a moment to enjoy the added height before speaking. “Good morning, everyone. Firstly, thank you for your cooperation. I know you have a lot to do, and I appreciate you taking the time to hear what I have to say.”

The marked just blink at him, silent and dull. _I’m doing them a favor._

“I know my reputation isn’t the best among you, but I feel compelled to note that I’ve always respected the pact this kingdom’s previous rulers have kept with the Sullivans for so many years. Can any of you say I haven’t?”

Glances are exchanged, a few arms cross in consternation, but no response comes.

“I didn’t think so. As such, taking my personal politics into account, I doubt any of you can comprehend just how much of a _relief_ it will be when I don’t have to deal with you creatures anymore.”

Confusion ripples through the crowd, but Danko just smiles and turns around. “Adam, it’s time,” he says, knowing the wizard will hear him.

But nothing happens. Adam doesn’t appear and start taking his vicious pleasure on the marked. Instead, a voice calls out, “I’m afraid Adam’s a little busy right now, Lord Danko.”

He whips around, and finds familiar faces he didn’t see in the crowd moving towards him. It was Claire Bennet who spoke, and she is flanked by her father and Elle Bishop.

Danko immediately leaps from the stand and draws his sword, swinging it at Claire when she’s close enough, but his blade clashes off Noah Bennet’s, drawn just as fast in his daughter’s defense. Danko switches focus to the other man, and the two begin exchanging attacks and defenses, the crowd parting around them. Danko fights with all his strength, despite the almost instant certainty of failure. Three against one, and that’s assuming the marked surrounding them don’t realize what he was about to do and tear him to pieces. But he’ll be damned if he’ll surrender, so he bashes his sword against Noah’s, and Claire’s, and Elle’s until Noah delivers a punch that sends him stumbling, Claire kicks his leg out from under him causing him to sprawl on his back, and Elle raises her sword and plunges it through his chest.

Danko is pinned to the ground, staring up in horror at Elle’s smirking, triumphant face. “Look what I’ve learned,” she says, and blue lightning spills from her hands, down the sword, and pulses through Danko’s body. He dies in burning agony.

***

Peter, Samuel, Edgar, and Hiro enter the carnival and begin searching for Adam and Claude. Peter knows that Noah, Elle, and Claire can handle Danko without a problem, but finding some way to defeat a centuries-old wizard very much escapes him. He can only hope the four of them together- five once they find Claude- will be enough to overwhelm Adam.

Peter glances at Hiro, finds the young men pale nearly hyperventilating. He puts a hand on his shoulder, saying, “You okay, Hiro?”

Dark eyes cut to him, but he nods, “Yes. Afraid, but... there is no shame in fear. A hero shows bravery by what is done _despite_ fear.”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

“I can stop him, Peter. A spell I learned in secret, when it was bad in the past. Hoped I would not have to use it, but I only need one chance.”

“Okay, well, just keep your eyes open, and I’m sure you’ll get that chance.”

Suddenly a voice brings them all to a stop, “Peter, is that you? I’m over here!”

Swords drawn, they follow the voice between two tents. Adam stands waiting, hands in his pockets and Claude lying at his feet.

“Oh, and you’ve brought your mates! How nice.” His eyes fall on Hiro, and darken, “Hm. I don’t much approve of the company you keep, Peter. How goes it, Carp? It’s been an awfully long time. Have you had the opportunity to betray any other sworn brothers recently?”

Hiro doesn’t answer, only raises his sword.

Adam gives a disappointed frown, “Oh well, I suppose conversation will have to wait until I can raise your spirits from the dead. Anyway, Claude, please **stand up**.”

The man climbs to his feet in jerky movements.

“Thank you. Now, if you’d be so kind, **kill them**.”

Claude immediately goes invisible, and Edgar doubles over with a grunt, his sword falling from his hand. It disappears as Samuel lets out a rage-filled roar and goes for Adam with Hiro close behind. Two lines of crimson appear on their backs before they get within three feet of the wizard and both cry out in pain and fall to their knees.

Through his shocked horror, Peter desperately tries to find a mark that will reveal Claude to him. _Please, please_ , he begs anything inside him, _I need help._

_Open your mind_ , Peter Petrelli tells him.

He closes his eyes and _sees_ \- the minds of his enemy and his friends are there around him, and one is a sick mixture of both. He raises his sword just in time to deflect a slash at his throat. He can barely pick up on the thought of movement before Claude makes it- the only thing that keeps him alive as he’s attacked again and again. “Claude, please! Wake up!” he cries, unable to apply his own persuasion without dropping his telepathic defense and leaving himself wide open.

“There’s no waking up this time, Peter!” Adam crows as he nimbly avoids all attacks from Hiro, Samuel, and Edgar. “I’m certain sweet Claire has made short work of that little troll Danko, at _last_.” He sends Edgar tumbling with a wave of his hand. “Soon enough you lot will die by my or your own Claude’s hands.” He teleports clear of Hiro’s swinging blade. “And I will be free to bring this kingdom to its former glory, when it was steeped in magic.” He grabs Samuel’s shirt and drags him close, growling, “I swear sometimes you people make it too _easy_.”

Peter catches sight of Samuel’s grin and the flash of a small dagger before it’s plunged into Adam’s stomach.

The wizard gasps and thrusts Samuel away. He gazes down at the hilt protruding from his stomach... and starts laughing. He laughs as he draws it free. He laughs as he applauds slowly. “Well done, that was very clever. It’s truly a shame that healing was my very first and most thoroughly mastered spell. In fact, it’s the reason I’m here at all. Points for effort, though.” He tosses the dagger so it lands point first in his hand, and throws it at Samuel’s heart-

\- only to have Hiro and the dagger disappear in midair. “Damn it all, Carp,” Adam grumbles, before Hiro reappears clamped on his back. Hiro holds the dagger up to his neck and Adam leans away from it more in annoyance than fear even as he lurches in an attempt to dislodge the smaller man. Hiro is whispering in Adam’s ear, and the words make him go pale and still. More than pale- his face turns gray, as does his hair. He seems to be almost physically crumbling to ash.

Edgar sees Peter deflect another blow from an unseen sword, and takes a chance, barreling into Claude where he suspects the possessed man is and managing to grab hold of him.

Peter staggers over to Hiro and Adam, who have dropped to their knees.

“No...” Adam rasps, “No... not that easy... I won’t...” His hands grasp Peter’s arm and shoulder, and he dumps wild, ancient magic into him.

Peter and Peter scream together, and the world explodes behind their eyes.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which it ends, the only way it can end.

Peter hears birdsong. A gentle breeze drifts over his face. _Am I dead?_

_No._

_That’s good._ He pauses. _Who am I?_

_I really don’t know._

A hand nudges his shoulder, “Peter? Peter, are you awake?”

His eyelids feel like they’re made of stone as he opens them. It gets easier to keep them open when he’s got Claire’s brilliant smile to look at. “Hi.”

A sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob escapes her. “Hi yourself. You had us worried for a little while.”

“Sorry. Is everyone okay?”

She nods, “Pretty much. Samuel and Hiro needed some attention. And you- well, I guess you’re all right now. How do you feel?”

“I feel okay.”

“Well then you’re okay,” her smile turns wry, “How’s this for an improvement over last time, huh? Bad guys dead, good guys alive, and a sunny day afterwards.”

“Last time...” Peter tries to remember. It was three years ago, wasn’t it? He left his home. He couldn’t take it anymore, Danko’s obvious escalating tyranny and the way the court just rolled over for him in Nathan’s absence. But... he remembers more than that. The tower- he remembers, sitting with his books, hoping Nathan would come soon. Or a brave knight, that would be fine too...

“Peter, are you sure you’re okay?” Claire’s face creases in worry.

He sits up in the caravan cot, and immediately brings a hand to his swimming head, “I... I don’t know. Please, just- I need a minute.”

“Sure, no problem.” Claire stands, “I’ll go get Claude, okay? He told- _everyone_ to tell him when you’re awake.” She steps out of the caravan, leaving Peter alone with himself.

He leans closer to the diamond-shaped window cut in the caravan’s wall. Breathes the soft air as he watches Claire walk away. Stares out into the sunshine. It’s hard to believe a new day actually came. Turning his gaze back to the caravan, he spots a mug of water on a low stool just out of reach. He holds out a hand and searches for his mark.

The mug doesn’t move. Peter rubs his temples, and tries again. Nothing. Not even- he can’t even _feel_ his marks, the way he always does. It’s like discovering he’s missing a limb. Panic starts to build, making him jump when the caravan door flies open.

“Pete,” Claude says after he’s entered and clapped eyes on the prince. He steps closer and fetches the mug he sees Peter reaching for before sitting down on the stool it occupied. “Thirsty?” he asks, holding it out.

Peter takes the mug in both hands, staring down into the water for a moment before saying, “Claude, I... I think my marks are gone.”

He frowns, “What d’you mean?”

“I mean I had my marks, and then Adam... did whatever he did to me, and now I can’t even pick up a mug.”

Claude blinks, “Oh. I’m... sorry, mate.”

“Sorry? I...” he takes a breath, “What am I gonna do? How will I...? Shit, this is bad.” He covers his eyes and braces his elbow on the edge of the window.

He feels a warm hand gently wrap around his shoulder, “It’ll be all right, Pete. Just take it easy for a bit.”

“Take it easy?” he snaps, “How can I do that? I’ve got a _kingdom_ to rebuild, Claude- I need to be at my best!”

The hand retreats. Claude’s face is shuttered, chastised. “Right, then,” he murmurs, “Suppose I’ll get out of your way.” He stands, “If you need me, you know where to find me. Cheers.”

Somehow, the words “Don’t go” don’t find their way to Peter’s mouth until Claude’s out the door. Peter flops back on the cot, trying to figure out what’s wrong with his brain and coming up with too many options to pick from.

***

Another night, but the same tavern, the same idiots, and what tastes like the _exact_ same stolen ale. “Danko, Petrelli, it’s all the same in the end. Field’ll still need plowing, animals’ll need feeding- who cares who’s up there sittin’ in the big chair. Can’t say I’m all torn up that my marked farmhands aren’t bein’ hauled away by the searchers anymore.”

“True enough, true enough. But you ain’t heard what _I_ heard.” Three heads bow closer together at the bar. Claude cranes his neck too.

He knows damn well he can just write a letter if he wants news from the castle. Old habits die hard, he tells himself. Anyway, it’s not like he’s received a letter himself. Not after the first two or three he got went unanswered.

“You remember Prince Nathan, right? Went off on that expedition some years ago? Mostly figured for dead?”

A chorus of nods.

“Well, he’s not. Came in on a fruit cart a few weeks ago, with nothing to his name but the clothes on his back, a pair of boots, and a little extra food and coin. They say he’s all set to take his rightful place on the throne.”

“Ho ho, I wouldn’t be too pleased about that, were I his baby brother who’s been minding the store since Danko bit the dust.”

“Guess again. I heard he wanted to abdicate the minute Prince Nathan came through the door.”

“Shoot, really? Hunh. Heavy weighs the crown, I suppose.”

Pensive sips of ale. One a lot more so than the others. By the time he’s drained his mug and put it back on the bar, Claude’s made his decision.

There’s no wind to blame the slammed door on this time, but young Brian Davis is still working on his control, so they let it slide.

***

Peter’s been walking along the main road for most of two days when he sees a figure coming in the opposite direction. He identifies Claude’s loping gait- _Claude! It’s Sir Claude!_ Peter exclaims in his head and it’s all he can do to keep himself from running the rest of the way.

“Hey,” he says when they face each other.

“Hiya.” Claude shifts on his feet, “Where you off to?”

“The swamp,” offered with a glinting eye and tiny smile, the better to hide his nervousness. “You?”

“Ah, thought I’d drop by the castle. I heard Prince Nathan’s come home, wonder of wonders.”

The smile becomes real. “ _King_ Nathan now. You missed the coronation.”

“Did I? Shame. Bet it was lovely.”

“It was pretty good. Ma was there- first time she’s been home in a while. Claire was crowned a princess too. As Nathan’s oldest child, she’s next in line for the throne. Elle was beside herself, of course.” They even managed to dig up a few descendants from the old noble families, who stumbled over themselves to pledge allegiance to the new king and his heir.

“Puttin’ a blonde immortal in charge of the kingdom. Somehow that doesn’t seem like a forward step, your highness.”

¬¬ “The government guys are already drawing up some documents. She’ll get fifty years, then she has to step down.” He’s way too tired to even think about worrying if they’ve begun the next big battle. Let the generation to come have their turn.

“Smart.”

Silence swirls through the autumn air.

“So,” Peter says, “Are we gonna stand here all night, or do you maybe wanna make camp?”

“The second one. I’ll get some firewood.”

“I’ll set up the bed rolls.”

They go about their separate tasks until they can’t avoid each other anymore. Claude drops down on the ground and holds his hands up to the flames. Peter sits beside him.

“Should get a bit cold tonight,” the man remarks, clearly scraping the bottom of his small talk barrel.

Pity is enough of an excuse for Peter to spit out, “I’m sorry, Claude.”

He blinks, “What for?”

_Yeah, what for?_ Peter asks. Peter tells him to be quiet. “For- back there, at the windmill, remember? I... forced you to sleep. That was... that was even worse than reading your thoughts. At least that was an accident. Anyway, I shouldn’t have done it. I’m sorry.”

“Ah, well, that’s all right. Nobody was makin’ good decisions that night.”

Peter chuckles. “You think so?” he asks, looking over at Claude, daring to imagine a rueful heat in his eyes.

He’s rewarded with a quiet, “I do.”

Peter looks away, trying to deal with the warm swell in his chest with a modicum of dignity.

“Hey, Pete.”

“Yeah?”

“How long you plannin’ to hold on to that spell?”

He starts, “Oh, uh, you can see-?”

“That scarred up mask you’re wearing? Yeah. Don’t fret though, it’s hard to tell. Face underneath it’s really not all that different.”

Peter’s gaze turns to the fire again, pretending the words spilling out of him could be cleanly burned away, “I thought the spell would break when Adam died. I thought all my marks were gone too, but for some reason I can still hold on to this one.” He risks looking at Claude, and sees only gentle concern. He continues with a pained hesitance, “Claude, I- I don’t really know who I am. It’s like I’m two people at once now. I’ve got two sets of memories, and one of them is real and one isn’t, and I spend every day trying to figure out which is which. And there’s always some voice in my head- I can barely tell them apart, barely know who _they_ are, neither of them are really _me_. It’s driving me insane!”

“Shh sh sh...” Claude’s hands wrap around Peter’s neck and press against his cheek. Peter leans into the touch, eyes closed and brow furrowed. The other Peter curls up in his pain and weariness. Claude inches closer, and says with one breath left between them, “Don’t blame me if this doesn’t work, yeah?”

A small smile. “You got it.”

Someone closes the distance, and Peter has warm, soft lips pressing against his for the first time in way too long. He sighs into the kiss and tilts his head for another deeper one, which Claude seems perfectly willing to give. He feels a strange bubbling sensation in his chest- not quite like any arousal he’s ever felt, but he goes with it until it seems to spread over his entire body. He starts to pull away, but Claude’s hands keep him close. Yellow light starts to glow inside Peter’s eyelids- it dazzles his mind out of growing panic and briefly blots out everything else in the world except Claude’s lips on his.

The light dims slowly, and the kiss ends. Peter breathes in and out. He feels strange. There’s an odd lightness in his head, as if a migraine he’s learned to ignore has suddenly vanished. He bolts through his memory, and finds his life as it was three years ago. Fighting Danko, being captured- even Adam’s leer as the spell was cast on him. But he also remembers long days of reading in his tower room, of kneeling by a stream and starting as the water froze around his fingers. Five seconds ago that riot of memories from two different people ate at him, but now... it seems so simple. They aren’t from two different people anymore. They’re just his. A beaming smile stretches across his face, “It worked!”

Claude looks puzzled, “It did? But, you don’t look like you used to. The way you did at night.” His thumb traces over the scar on Peter’s face.

Peter’s own fingers move to follow Claude’s, and he finds a much fainter line. “Exactly, see, this is even better. ¬I still remember- I wanted to break the spell, but I didn’t want to lose my memories of who I was... who I became because of the spell. It would’ve been like dying. And killing myself, at the same time.”

Claude’s shaking his head, “What’re you sayin’, Pete?”

He just laughs, and lays his hand on Claude’s cheek. “It’s okay. Everything’s fine. Everything’s great. Thank you. Thank you...” He presses kisses to Claude’s mouth again, too happy to keep explaining something he doubts he’ll ever understand himself. Above them the stars shine, and a new day is coming.


End file.
